Do not go gentle
by GotchaYouLilDirtbag
Summary: Darker (hence M rating) and longer sequel to One Long Night (involves minor OC character deaths). Please R&R - even if you hate it!
1. Chapter 1

Thank you Keren for her expertise and time as an excellent Beta reader, to Pam for her encouragement, and to Diana for her unceasing enthusiasm and her very welcome and necessary cyber-nagging ;-).

Sequel to ONE LONG NIGHT - and you really do need to read that one for this one to make sense.

Also – torch means flashlight in the UK and Australia (and other countries I am sure – sorry if I have left you out). If I mean a torch of the flame variety then I will make that clear. Where the point of view of an American character is being used then I have used the term flashlight.

Do not go gentle (sequel to One Long Night)

Chapter 1

 _It is not for the meat_

 _But for the sake of the game_

 _That we hunt._

 _'Hausa Hunters' - Hausa_

 _Yippee-ky-ay motherfuckers!_

 _Bruce Willis_

Hunting.

Moving through the silent moonlit graveyard as quietly as a shade. Bare feet padding over disturbed earth. Feel how fresh it is between the toes. Feel it. Smell it. Taste it in the air.

Birthing soil.

The former occupant is still close by, newly born, naked and vulnerable. Hungry. Looking, blindly seeking, its first kill. Thrashing through the first hours of its life like a new born foal trying to stand, not thinking, not knowing anything but the necessity to rise up and live. It is a sacred time, a pure time, a naked time. A time consumed with a burning lust for blood.

She doesn't need to tell him what she has found. He knows. Crouching silently beside her, toes curled into the grave's disturbed soil, he knows. She can feel him shivering with it. He inhales the night air, searching: her partner, her other half, her Watcher.

A twig snaps somewhere in the darkness and he growls beside her.

They run.

Hunting.

Chasing through the undergrowth. Branches whipping by; leaves and cold turned earth sent flying. Heart racing with excitement. It burns and smoulders through her chest, her belly, lower.

And there it is. Breaking cover to flee over the open ground. Eyes flash, pure carnivore desire, and she is sprinting as fast as a cheetah, as fast as Death itself. The ground flies under her feet and the trees are a blur. Then her Watcher veers away and takes off on an angle, anticipating an ambush up ahead. Now it is just her and the Prey. And the chase.

The glorious chase.

Gaining ground on it as it flees through the graves. It's swerving, jumping, leaping and stumbling over the tombs. But her feet move in an effortless blur. Each footfall perfectly placed. She is flying along the ground, leaping over the grave markers like they aren't even there.

Then one flawlessly timed vault and she has it. They go down in a skidding heap, churning up the leaves and rot until the air smells like perfume; incense. Its newborn claws scratch at her and every wound feels like fire. Like power. Like bliss.

Fangs snap and chew air. Foam flies from its lips. And then the stake. Its sharp point, like lightning, striking the chest and piercing the heart. She can feel the heart sack tearing as the sharp wood forces its way through into the tough heart muscle and for a moment she wishes she had used her hands, her teeth. But then the dust. Dust. Exploding dust. And she inhales it, eyes half shut, dreamy.

Stoned.

...

...

A growl: confident and predatory.

And right behind her.

One twist and she is up, whirling to face the new comer.

And there he is. Pacing slow and deliberate on the edge of the clearing. Skin like alabaster, like marble, glowing under the moonlight. Eyes on fire, watching her. He's gauging, judging. She smiles. He isn't going to run, he isn't going to flee: he's going to fight.

Better than the chase, better than anything.

He returns her smile and his fangs glint in the moon glow. She shivers. She can feel the energy radiating from him, the barely contained power, and her skin burns where it touches her. This is the one.

Finally, this is The One.

They clash. Claws and fists and feet and fangs. Blood and bruises. Looking for the killing moment. Looking for death. But it never comes and they fight forever and it is perfect. It is ecstasy.

Then he throws her back. She hits the ground, rolls and is up again, ready. And he is still there. Blood like black glistening spider webs streaking the porcelain of his skin. Bruises like storm clouds. _Pretty._ _Sexy._ And he is still there, waiting, snarling around a smile: feral and knowing.

Her blood feels hot in her veins and she knows he can smell it. His nostrils are flared, chin lifted, eyes intense. She looks into those eyes and sees herself reflected. Sees fury and death. Then he swipes his tongue over his split lip, tasting his own blood and she frowns. His blood is hers by divine right, but he's taunting her with it, showing off bloody fangs in a sharp smile.

And suddenly she understands.

Her charge is met move for move even as she knocks him from his feet and they fall. Down into an open grave. Soil falls like a rain shower to cover them as she takes her right to his blood. A Slayer's right. She feels his fangs bear under her lips and she answers his growl. Even as his claws rise to sink into her throat, even as she stabs down with her stake, she finally understands and she is alive: finally Alive.

"Spike..."

"ARGH!" Buffy sat bolt upright in bed. Oh my god. No, no, no, no, no. Not again! Not again. Adrenaline and something she didn't want to acknowledge was still racing through her veins. She was shaking. Sweat was making the bed sheets stick to her skin. Oh god. That freaking dream. Every night since the ghouls, since the dammed hell blood.

FUCKING SPIKE!

(ARGH: horrifying Freudian mental picture!)

Ohgodohgodohgod.

 _What the hell am I going to do?_

Call Giles. Yes: call Giles. He'll know what to do. Tearing back the covers she practically leapt across the room to her dresser. Her hand curled around the phone. No, wait. What was she going to say?

 _Hi, Giles. Sorry to call so late. Yes, everything is fine. Sure - I'm fine. Except for the horrible, shameful, hell-blood induced lust fuelled death dream featuring mucho nakedness, blood and Spike, everything is great..._

Oh god it was so shameful she couldn't even say the words out loud. Not to Giles. Mom, Willow? God no! She let go of the phone and sat back down on the damp sheets. Just calm down. Deep calming breaths. Yes, everything is fine. Just a dream. Not prophetic or anything, just a plain old dream. A run of the mill technicolour Slayer type horrible mixed up nightmare of blood and hunting and death _and lust and sex and Spike and_ \- oh my god ... With a groan she fell back on the bed and covered her face with her pillow.

Giles jerked upright in his desk chair and blinked. What the-? Something had just woken him. Something... He looked curiously at the phone, his gaze drawn to it as if by a magnet. What was he expecting? A call? He rubbed his face with one hand.

Buffy?

He waited a moment but the phone stayed silent. Odd. He was sure for a moment that he had been woken up by something outside of himself. He sighed and rubbed his face again; massaged tired eyes under his new glasses. Just as well probably. He had been having some seriously disturbing dreams ever since the night of the ghoul attack and was not sure he wanted to put himself in the position of accidently mentioning them by talking to Buffy so soon after having one. He drew in a deep cleansing breath. Back to work.

The desktop in front of him was splattered with layer upon layer of notepaper, pens, pencils, rune stones, bones, books and parchments and his Magia. None of it was helping much though. There was nothing anywhere that told him anything more about these Hell god blood pools. Not even Tilea's writings, easily the most extensive of all the scratchings he had come across, took him from the above ground search down into the Hellmouth proper. How could the Council have let this happen? How could they have been so lax? Actually he knew the answer to that and it was one of the reasons he had rejected the offer of a position on the High Council Inner Circle. Whether concerning themselves with the acquisition of new books for a school library, planning for a national budget or working on a yearly Hellmouth threat assessment, committees were committees and usually stuffed it all up. He hated committees. That was something he and his Slayer charge shared in common.

Thinking again of Buffy, Giles looked at his phone. Something had woken him up and if it hadn't been Buffy then what-

RING!

"Buffy." Giles answered on the first ring.

"I'm sorry to say not Mr Giles." An Englishman's voice.

"Oh, its you." Giles pursed his lips and sank back in his chair. He tried, very unsuccessfully, not to get irritated. If there was one thing worse than committees it was dealing with their lackeys.

"Oh yes Mr Giles, it is me as it has been everyday since I was born. Begging your pardon Mr Giles sir, but you said to call at anytime of the day or of the night. Night or day."

"You've found something?" That was unusually quick. Even though he was chief librarian at the Council headquarters Barnabas Bartholomew Longbottom was not an especially sharp tack.

"Ah, well," there was a hesitation. "Mayhaps something Mr Giles. Mayhaps something." Giles frowned, then he felt it. Even down the phone line he felt the rotten little bastard at it. Of all the nerve-

"Put him on Barnaby."

"Oo, er, I - I'm not sure I know-" Old Barnaby stuttered.

"If you are going to spy Knightly you could at least have the decency to put some effort into it." A moment of soft cloth sounds against the phone and some muted whispering. Then a new voice:

"Rupert old boy!"

"What are you doing Knightly? This is none of your business."

"Oh but it is my dear fellow. Anything that takes up Council resources is my business and it seems you have been taking up quite a bit of Old Barnaby's very valuable time these past few days. I don't think we've ever seen him quite so -"

"What are you after?"

"You haven't changed have you Rupert. I would have thought a spell in the colonies would have loosened you up little."

"Knightly." Warning tone now. _Annoying little prick._

"Fine, fine, fine. We know you have Barnaby searching the archives for information on the Hellmouth pools, even though we have already searched and given you what we had nearly a week ago, I might add. _So glad to hear your good self and the Slayer made it through by the way._ One might even think you don't trust us."

"Whatever gave you that idea?" Giles retorted through his teeth. "You haven't answered my question Councillor: what do you want?"

"Barnaby hasn't found anything new because there isn't anything else here that you have not already seen yourself or we have not passed on to you. So, the Council has held a session and decided that your concern over our knowledge gap is not only justified, but highlights a situation of grave concern." Giles froze in his seat. They couldn't be suggesting-? No, they weren't that stupidly naive. Couldn't be. "The vote was unanimous: the Council is going to mount an expedition into the Sunnydale Hellmouth." Oh no, here it comes. "Obviously the selection of the party is something that we have not yet finalized-"

"No."

"Come come Rupert-"

"No, absolutely not. Its a stupid idea."

"Really? How then do you propose we gather the data _you_ have justifiably pointed out is sorely lacking in our archives? I never pegged you for a coward Rupert."

"Don't patronize me with your childish attempts to manipulate, Knightly. I cannot go and neither can the Slayer and you know very well why."

"We have protective magicks-"

"Not that powerful."

"I think you underestimate us Rupert." Knightly actually sounded insulted which Giles found childishly pleasing. "We have discussed _all_ the aspects, the expedition _will_ be going ahead."

"Then it will do so without myself and without the Slayer." A pause on the line.

"Very well, if you insist." All right, that was unexpected. He was silent for a second and then forced his thoughts through the song lines, the ley lines, through the misty places and found Knightly. "OW! That is uncalled for Rupert!" The Councillor's voice squealed down the line and Giles found himself blocked. "I have been nothing but honest with you."

"Really? So who have you chosen to die this time?"

"No one is going to-" A frustrated sigh. "This is no longer your concern. You will kindly desist monopolizing Barnaby's time and move on to something else. We will send you a copy of the data once it has been collected." Giles did not speak for the longest time. The bastards. The bastards. They had him and they knew it. He could not let them choose someone, no doubt some young, eager, hopelessly naive and inexperienced someone (Wesley's fresh, stupid young face popped into his mind), to go in his place to die because of some _committee_ decision taken during a late night sherry session.

"Alright." Giles clenched his teeth. "I'll do it."

"Well-"

"Don't be an ass on top of a son of a bitch Knightly."

"Welcome aboard, you-"

"Wait a minute, you haven't heard my terms."

"Terms, old boy?"

"You will give me command of the party."

"Giles I-"

"Shut up and listen. If I am going to risk my life, and more importantly: the _Slayer's_ life, for you then you will bloody well listen to me."

Buffy couldn't sleep. Actually scratch that: she was afraid to sleep. Instead she drew the curtains against the seductive pull of moonlight, flipped the light switch and got down to some Tai Chi. Clear the mind. Yes, don't think of anything except the forms. Slow and fluid just like Angel had taught her. Angel. _Control the body and the mind will follow._ Who was she to argue with a century of learned anguish control?

Thinking of Angel though got her thinking of other vampires she had encountered which lead to thoughts of the Master, Darla, Drusilla, and then, inevitably, back to Spike. She pursed her lips, concentrated harder, but just got more Spike.

Rrrrrrr...

Dammit, why didn't Giles tell her about all this earlier? They could have prepared. They could have searched out a protective charm, or something, that would have put a wall between herself and her Hell dimension attraction. Dammit! And if he couldn't tell her, why hadn't he fixed it himself? She sighed, straightened from the crane form and repositioned herself for another run through - she was being unreasonable and she knew it but jeez...

 _"Please, sit down." Giles had motioned her to a kitchen chair and turned to the kettle. Then - nothing. He fussed with cutlery and teabags and she sat there getting more frightened with each passing second. After breaking a second nail picking at the cracked plastic tabletop she could stand it no longer._

 _"Giles!"_

 _"What? Oh yes. Yes." He turned around, leaned against the counter and took off his glasses. He still could not look at her. "Right. I've been meaning to have this talk with you for some time now." He bit at his lower lip._

 _"Okay." Buffy prompted, not even trying to keep the apprehension out of her voice. "Seriously freaking out now."_

 _"Oh no Buffy." That galvanized her Watcher and he pulled out a chair to sit at the table, then he reached out and engulfed her hand in his larger one. "There is nothing to worry about. I haven't been reticent to tell you because it was something - threatening. I just haven't told you because, well frankly, it was of greater concern to teach you the more immediate facets of being the Slayer, initially. The, uh, actual Slayage if you will._

 _"Then, with the fuss with the Master, Angelus, Adam and such; not to mention various and sundry panic attacks regarding overdue papers and tests, the right time just never arose."_

 _"So, you're going to tell me now right?" She took a deep breath. "How is the Slay - how am_ I _connected to the Hell dimensions?"_

 _"As you know, for every generation there is a Slayer. One girl, chosen from all others to fight the darkness." He looked at her for a moment, curiously. "Have you ever wondered_ how _each Slayer is chosen?"_

 _"Sure." Buffy said. "But I thought it was all - you know - some mysterious mystical unknowable thing. Like Britney Spears."_

 _"Brit - What?"_

 _"You know, Britney Spears. Blond, dancy, can't sing for nuts._ Virginal my ass. _" She muttered darkly. "Anyway, I mean, how did she get so big? Who knows? Its one of those mysterious things - like the meaning of life, or pixie boots? I mean who would have thought suede-?"_

 _"Stop, please." Giles pinched the bridge of his nose. Squeezed his eyes shut for a long moment. "Alright, from that unfathomable string of analogies one takes it that you haven't given it a lot of in-depth thought?"_

 _"Well-"_

 _"Alright." Giles replaced his glasses and looked at her. "Here it is: from the beginning of knowable time, for as long as vampires have existed, from the dawn of human kind there have been Slayers. We are not sure how the first one was created, who created her I mean, but there has been a lot of research conducted and a lot of knowledge preserved from ancient times." He took a breath, paused for a moment - "the first Slayer handed down a legacy. Along with saving humankind from a very premature demise she left another mark of her passing. Her bloodline."_

 _"So-"_

 _"So, you are a direct descendent of that first Slayer." Buffy blinked at him - woah,_ heavy _. "Her essence flows in your veins."_

 _"So that means that Mom-"_

 _"No."_

 _"Dad then."_

 _"No."_

 _"Hey, is this your very not subtle way of telling me that I'm some freakish foundling left on my parent's doorstep?"_

 _"No, your parents are your parents." He smiled. "We aren't talking about genetics Buffy. It's something more primal than that. If it were only genetics then the bloodlines would be so weak by now that no new Slayers could arise._

 _"You have the Slayer's, well, it is hard to put into words like this, but within you is part of her very essence. What made her the Slayer, you have inherited. By detecting this essence the Council is able to pinpoint the location of each new Slayer."_

 _"Okay, handling that." She nodded slowly. "So, what about the hell attraction bit?"_

 _"From what we know, the first Slayer was formed in response to the creation of the first vampire. Somehow, the progenitor of the vampire bloodline slipped into this dimension and so the first humans were murdered and in their shells parts of the essence of that demon took over. Now, whoever or whatever, created the Slayer to counter the vampires did so by using material from that very vampire demon. It makes a perfect kind of sense if you think about it." Giles had that_ geeky guy on speed _look in his eye: staring into space, faintly excited, oblivious to his freaked out Slayer charge._

 _"Okay, thinking about it." Buffy prompted. "So far seeing no_ perfect _." Giles did not appear to have heard her._

"The best analogy is the criminal profiler." He went on. "How does the profiler catch the killer? Answer: by figuring out how the murderer thinks. What will be his next move; how does he arrive at that point? The profiler reaches inward to find some sympathetic chord that allows him to intuit the next move of the killer." He broke off from his musing and looked at Buffy. "It doesn't mean that profilers are killers. It doesn't mean that they are one and the same as the murderers they are hunting, just that they, unlike most of the population, have the innate ability to empathize with the murderer. That ability enables them to catch their quarry and prevent more deaths.

 _"It's the same with the Slayer. The ability to understand the motivations and desires of the Undead, and I mean really understand them, in here," he tapped his chest "gives the Slayer the supernormal ability to hunt them down. It doesn't mean that the Slayer_ is _a hell beast. Do you understand what I am saying?"_

 _"I think so." She picked at her broken nail. The kettle suddenly whistled and Giles instantly moved to the counter. She smiled behind his back: Pavlov's Watcher, conditioned to make tea at the sound of a whistle. It was a strangely comforting thing to watch. "What about you then?"_

 _"Ah, well." He fussed with his tea bags. "Watchers are a little different again." He poured hot water into the cups. Steam billowed upward to fog his glasses. "To start at the beginning: not all members of the Council have the potential to become Watchers, you know. Very few in fact." He returned to the table and handed Buffy her tea. He blew on his as he sat down again._

 _"What, the essence of the First Book-Guy isn't all that common then?"_

 _"Something like that." Giles gave one of his faint tolerant smiles. He sipped at his tea._

 _"So, give!" Buffy demanded when he floated away on a tea high. "If I'm going to be all Silence of the Lambs-girl then I want some company. What's the deal with the Watchers."_

 _"Well, as you know, my grandmother was a Watcher. In fact, I come from a long line of Watchers. Going right back on my grandmother's side. Almost every generation of the Giles family has produced a Watcher." He sounded faintly proud of that which pricked Buffy's interest. There wasn't much about his family, or his_ inheritance _that he spoke positively about._

 _"So when did they tell_ you _about_ your _destiny?" She asked._

 _"Actually about the same age as you were when you were first approached. I didn't take the news very well either." They smiled at each other. "Not much is known about the origins of the Watchers. It is believed that they were also created by those that made the first Slayer. For instance, Watchers have some of the Slayer's capacity to heal, and share a little of the instinctive understanding of the Undead, but compared to the Slayer herself it is piffling in degree. Why Watcher's were first created then is really a matter of conjecture. Maybe it was an afterthought, an accident; maybe there was no reason at all."_

 _"Well, I for one am glad they were created." Buffy said. Then she grinned. "I mean, who would do all the book stuff for us?" She sobered again - "Actually, it all makes a kind of sense. When I, you know - with the Hell blood and kind of - you know what - and you and Xander, well, you know (her Watcher smiled, amused and paternal at the same time. He had taken the whole incident a lot more calmly than she had. Typical Giles). Yeah, well anyway I sensed something when I touched you."_

 _"You did?" Giles sat up straight in his chair. His eyes burned brightly, his body tensed._

 _"Yeah. At first I thought it was another Slayer. It was very confusing, somehow I knew that there couldn't be another and yet..." She trailed off as a smile of pure delight briefly curled her Watcher's lips. It lit up his face like the sun and she couldn't stop an answering smile. That she had been the cause of this happiness rather than pain was a surprisingly heady rush. She should do it more often..._

 _"So why the hell blood attraction then?" She asked_

 _"Ah," He sat back in his chair and scratched at his forehead with a thumbnail. "An unfortunate side effect I am afraid. Vampires, Slayers, and possibly, well (he tried not to smile)_ probably _, Watchers, having all stemmed from the same demon/human mix are attracted to the very darkness they were created from. It is not usually a problem. Its, ah, not everyday that one has to deal with hell material in this dimension."_

 _They sat in silence and drank their tea._ Very heavy _, Buffy thought to herself,_ I have demon essence _. The very concept was distressing. Here she was, having been taught to hate, despise and fight the evil Undead, now finding out that they were in fact mystically related. How sucky was that._

 _"Are you alright?" Giles had asked after a time. "Do you have any questions?"_

 _"I'm fine." She had nodded, and crooked one corner of her mouth in a smile._

Now she wished she had asked more questions. Spike popped into her head again. Dammit! It was no good; she would have to find something else to do.

 _I know - patrol the house!_

She slipped into the darkened hallway and padded down toward her mother's and Dawn's bedrooms. She looked into her mother's room first. A familiar long shape under a huge mound of covers emerged from the darkness. She squinted and reassured herself that there was actual breathing going on under the tons of wool and cotton. It was just amazing, her mother had to have equatorial blood lines, there was no other explanation for her utter hatred of the cold.

Further along she nudged the door to Dawn's room. It was a mess - as usual. Clothes, makeup, magazines, tapes, CD's and junk were strewn over every available surface. In the gloom it looked like mounds and twists of seaweed splattered along a beach. Why did Mom let her get away with it whilst she had to keep _her_ room in mind-bending order? It was just typical: favouring the youngest, always looking after the baby; letting her frolic about in a Barbie fantasy land and live in a sty, whilst expecting the older sister to go around staking vampires by night and cleaning her room by day. She pursed her lips and frowned: like to see _Dawn_ drive off a rampaging Mom eating monster _and_ remember to vacuum up the dust bunnies under her bed afterward...

Speaking of Dawn... Dammit, not again. The bed was empty, and she hadn't even had the decency to fashion a dummy out of pillows and cushions like any other self-respecting whiny little sibling would have done. Rrrrrrr. Buffy curled her fists. There were no prizes for guessing just where her sister had gone either. Fucking Spike...


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"So what about if a mortal _wants_ you to bite them? Like, to sire them or something?"

"Don't know. No one's stepped up for the honour since I got chipped. Why, you offering?"

"Maybe."

"Fang tease." Spike scolded. Dawn was in a cheeky mood tonight and it was doing unmentionable things to his body. He stopped suddenly and stared down at her standing there, way too close to him, looking pale as porcelain in the moonlight, and wondered if she'd stop her goading if she knew what it was doing to him. Maybe not he thought: there was just enough of Buffy in the girl that she might not care.

"Who says I'm teasing?" Mini-fatale said, looking at him from lowered lashes as she stood hipshot and all pouty. The smell of her blood tingled in his nostrils. Sexy. He stared into her eyes, game face flickering. She was so small. Once upon a time he could have eaten such a little snack in one mouthful. Once upon a time...

"I say you're teasing and I say you'd better stop it."

"Make me."

"Rrrrrr." He took a step back and sat on a tombstone. Thrusting both hands into his duster he fished around for the makings and rolled himself a cigarette. "You're getting as bad as your big sis, little bit, but I know you're teasing. Wanna know how?" He lit up and dragged in a mouthful of delicious acrid smoke. With a practised purse of the lips he released the fumes in an impressive smoke ring that melted over the girl's face, much to her disgust. She coughed, waving her hands around in annoyance. He grinned; gaze focussed and sharp like a razor.

"Well?" Summers junior demanded after a moment. She really looked like the Slayer when she got all stroppy. He let her stew for a moment to enjoy the view, and smoked some more. Then he snatched her arm, movement cobra fast, and pulled her close to him. Her skin burned hot under his cold hand. The blood pulsed strong and vital. Tasty. His teeth ached to make contact with the artery he could see pulsing in her throat, and for a lunatic instant he entertained the notion of giving in to the impulse. Fuck this chip, fuck it to hell. Then the moment passed and he satisfied himself by tickling her mind with a tiny thrall. Her eyes widened in surprise and he smelt a tiny flicker of fear. It warmed his belly.

"If you were serious I'd know it," he hooked a black nailed finger into the waistband of her hipsters and tugged suggestively, "because I'd smell it." His meaningful stare was not lost on the youngster and she blushed to her hairline. Still got it Spike, you still got it. He held on to her clothing for longer than was necessary, until she started to get some serious doubts, then let her stumble backwards a step. She did not move far: stubborn, despite her little shock. He liked that too. It was too damn bad he couldn't sire her; she'd by far make the best companion he could ever hope for. He flicked the cigarette butt into the dark. It made a bright tracing arc, comet like, before it died.

"Does the Slayer know you're here?" She didn't answer. "Thought so. You're going to be the death of me yet, love. You know she doesn't like you hanging about with the big bad." At the mention of Buffy Dawn folded her arms and stiffened her shoulders. _Teenagers_ : they were entirely too easy.

"Buffy's not the boss of me, I hang where I want. With who I want too." Sassy young Bonnie looking for her Clyde.

" _Right_."

"I do!" Cue the three year old.

"I agree with you." _Be calm. Don't laugh._

"I DO!"

"I know you do." _Don't laugh._

She suddenly scowled, catching on. "Shut up Spike."

"Tease and tease alike, pet." He chuckled. "Never mess with the big bad. I've got more than 100 years on you in the mind games department." _More than you could ever know. More than I could ever tell._

"Yeah, you're a real antique."

He bared his fangs at her, eyes glinting yellow. She grinned back, feral and sharp. God, she looked so much like her sister it burned... And after those bloody brilliant dreams he had been having lately it scalded even more than usual.

He had not seen the Slayer since the ghoul incident and, he admitted to himself, he was starting to miss the bitch. Even her tendency toward domestic Spike-thumping violence (actually especially that part, ooh yeah, when he thought about that late in the day, in his bed, under his red silk sheets the colour of blood... Oh Mummy, little Will has been a baaaaad baaaaad boy). It really grated. He shouldn't even think about her enough to miss her, but after a few days of skulking about fixing up the crypt, acquiring new furniture, a new TV and a stereo he was bored out of his skull. Spine snappingly, nuts numbingly, hunt your bed ridden-grandmother bored. Even coming good with his obligations to provide information to the Watcher was starting to appeal.

Fuck, he was getting desperate...

It was no fun at Willy's anymore either. Since Willy had gotten himself on the pointy end of a ghoul and been killed off the place had changed management. It had gone up class and snooty. Where Willy liked the homey let-the-fangs-hang-out relaxed atmosphere that was equally conducive to a satisfying spot of violence with pool cues and broken bottles, or peacefully drinking oneself into oblivion and sleeping it off on the floor, the new lot had made it very clear that that was out of the question. Beneath them, they said. Not the kind of look they were trying to generate. It wouldn't attract the right type of clientele. What the fuck kind of language was that from a lord of the underworld? _Clientele. Right type. Generate_. Where were the _edibles,_ _anything breathing_ , and _ravage_ in that lot of bunk?

Fucking new age poofs.

In a fit of pique he had savaged the new proprietor and snapped the necks of his three minions as they stood there in their stupid beige business suits and polished high tops. That had learnt them all right, the great mincing nancies.

Outside of Willy's (from which he had subsequently been given a ban for the rest of his existence) he had lost most all of his regular choices of recreation. Couldn't sire any minions and plan for any world domination, the muse from his mortal poetry-scribing days still had not returned, Dru was still buggered off (miss you luv, more than I can say), hunting and feasting was nixed post-chip implantation, and palling about with Undead buddies was nearly impossible since he had thrown his lot in with the Slayer.

Bloody Slayer.

It always returned to her.

He growled low in his throat as the realisation sank in. Bloody fucking hell, he was becoming dependent on a Slayer to provide the colour in his existence. That wouldn't be so bad if the colour generated was red and was obtained by eating her, but noooo, he was thinking about her in terms of hooking up for a bit of demon slaughter. Reduced to killing my own people out of desperation for something to do; fallen so low as to embrace The Enemy to get some decent kicks... Rrrrrrr.

Maybe it was time to blow this joint? Leave Sunnydale for more entertaining climes where anonymity would let him back into the clan, for a time anyway. Another Hellmouth perhaps? Hmmm... The thought was strangely unappealing. He had his claws firmly embedded in the Sunnydale Hellmouth. He had gotten himself a decent set of digs and put down roots. Humiliating, dependence riddled roots, sure, but roots all the same. The first since he had been sired and he was becoming very attached to them. He was, dammit. This was _his_ Hellmouth now; this was _his_ lair, _his_ blood-cache, _his_ T.V., _his_ stuff, _his_ world. His. Nobody else to claim it and take it away just because they ranked higher, were older, were his bloody relatives, was his fucking grandsire.

"Where is Summers senior anyway?" Spike asked Dawn. He lit up another fag. "Haven't seen her in a while."

"Do we always have to talk about her?" Dawn pouted at him. Spike stared glassily at her. For some unfathomable reason she hated it when he did that. "Alright, stop staring at me already! She's been at the Magic Box all week helping Giles clean it up. It got wrecked you know." She kicked at the headstone he was sitting on. "She won't let me see it, like I might be scarred for life or something. Sheesh, it's just broken up stuff. Not like it's a rotting body or anything. Not like it's dangerous."

"Well, now pet - FUCK!" Spike flew backwards off the tombstone to the accompaniment of Dawn's shrill squeal. He hit the ground and rolled, spitting out the cigarette. Stretching out a clawed hand, game face pealed, he grabbed the ankle of the soon to be ex-entity that had knocked him off his perch. The man fell, hard. Spike was up in an instant and springing, cat fast, to pin him to the ground. He struggled but was outmatched by the master vampire on top of him. Straddling the body Spike forced it to turn face up. Pinned its shoulder's to the dirt. It was a vampire. Wild eyed. Frightened.

With a really, really appalling mullet.

"What the hell are you doing? People are trying to have a conversation here!" Spike glared at his victim, being his intimidating best, but it just had the opposite effect. The vampire stopped fighting him and blew out his cheeks in relief, not in the least alarmed.

"Oh man, like am I glad to see a brother. Dude, like this crazy chick with super type powers is after me. She dusted my buddies in town and now she wants me." He spat out the words around unnecessary gasps. "You gotta help me, I can't lose her. I tried every trick I know but she just keeps on coming. Help me!" He grabbed pleadingly at Spike's forearms. Pathetic. Pathetic and sad. Then Spike saw the pup's throat and he bared his fangs. The raw wounds there told him all he needed to know and it ignited anger. Dammit! Barely a day old and no Sire within Cooee. What the fuck was the world coming to? He felt the urge to kick arse, Sire arse - the very best kind.

"Get up!" Spike ordered and sprang lightly from the vampire, game face disappearing. After a moment he held out a hand. The man, his relief pungently obvious, grabbed and was hauled onto his feet. He looked so ridiculously happy Spike felt nauseous. "Who Sired you?" He barked harshly.

"Sired?" The fledgling repeated vacantly and Spike tried not to slap the stupid creature.

"Made you." He explained, gripping the bony shoulders. "You know, _made you_?"

"Made?"

"Into a vampire." He prompted. Slow and baby clear. Bloody hell.

"Oh!" A light bulb smile around a mouth full of oversized fangs. " _Made me_ , oh I see. Yeah, dude. _Made_. Like, cool word man."

"Well?"

"Oh, yeah, dude -" And Spike was holding air as the vampire suddenly exploded into dust and his gripping hands snapped down on nothingness. In front of him, through the brown cloud stood the Slayer. Her stake was still raised in one hand.

"Thanks." She said breezily, dismissively, and before he could make a suitably caustic remark she was walking away. Well, wasn't that just rude and thoughtless. He sucked in his cheeks and exhaled with exaggerated care through his nose. Calm blue ocean, calm blue ocean, calm blue ocean. Nope. Not working. He flipped her the British bird behind her back. A two fingered salute, palm facing his chest. "What the hell are you doing here Dawn?" Buffy snapped at her sister.

Spike slipped up behind the blond and mimed an exaggerated _coup de grâce_ , fangs extended and snapping silently near her head. Rrrrr... Despite her chagrin Dawn choked on a giggle and Buffy spun around, glaring.

"That was rude." Spike said, human face indignant. "You know, you might be the Slayer and all but a little courtesy isn't too much to ask. I was right in the middle of a conversation."

"And remind me why I should care?" The Slayer shrugged, eyebrows raised. Sarcastic little bitch.

"I don't have to take this shit - " He waved a finger in her face, towering menacingly.

"Yeah well, anytime you feel like you've had enough, just call me. I can always make room for you in Mr Pointy's calendar. We aim to serve." She turned her back to once again look down on her little sister. "We're going home, now!" Spike had an excellent retort ready to smite the Slayer with when -

"Hey blondie!" A new voice interrupted him.

"Bloody hell, does _no one_ have any sodding manners anymore?" He whirled around and pulled up short. "Who the hell are you?" There were five vamped-out fanged brethren looking mean and nasty and hungry.

"Me? Hell I'm the one whose boy you just dusted." The Leader said. He was bigger than Spike by a head and shoulders with oversized muscles to match. Sweet.

"That bloke was yours then was he?" He rounded on them, staying unvamped. He sized them up. This was gonna hurt, but it was gonna be so good. Adrenaline cranked up his muscles. "Well, what the hell was he doing out on his own? How long ago did he Rise? Five fucking minutes?" The lead vampire frowned.

"What's your problem brother? Our business is with the girl."

"My problem?" Spike's laugh was bitten off. The stupid idiot had no idea... "Oh sod it." And Spike released the beast, lunging and body slamming the Leader.

The fight was good. Bloody and savage. And it hurt like a bitch.

Blocking swiping claws Spike ducked, coming up under the swinging limb and smashing his forehead into the Leader's nose. The bone shattered to mush. Stunned, the creature staggered backward, arms flailing. Blood gushed from the destroyed face.

"Who's the big bad now?" Spike roared, following the Leader's backward stagger, and knocking aside one of the minions rushing in to save his hapless Sire. No chance of that tonight: William the Bloody had some anger to displace. The Leader went down on his arse and Spike stuck the boot in. "Get up and fight you useless fuck! Fight me!" He danced back suddenly as the Slayer waltzed through taking on the other minions. He turned to watch her, eyes drawn like magnets. _Hot, hot, hot._ She was wearing that little white sleeveless number he liked so much. If he cocked his head the right way he could see down the plunging neckline and ...

A body slammed into him and he was going down. He hit the ground and rolled. A boot found its mark and he felt a rib give. Pain rattled his frame like a lightening strike. Shit. Then he was up. Ducking a fist. Coming in underneath the punch and sinking his claws into the vampire's arse, propelling the creature forward so fast he was hurled straight into a tree. The greenery shook, cracked and fell. This time though the Leader did not fall. Instead he staggered, and turned to face Spike, fangs wet and red with his own blood.

"I know you." He spat blood as he spoke. "You're Spike."

"Congratulations for having eyes." Spike retorted. "Collect $100. Go to the top of the class. Eat your teacher."

"I've heard about you: you kill your own kind. There ain't a brother or sister this side of the grave that ain't gunning for you." Suddenly there was a poof of dust across from them and the Leader's head whipped around. He roared, anger rippling down his muscular frame. Spike grinned. The Leader glared at him. "I heard a rumour that you don't hunt anymore. I heard that the Initiative fucked you up so you can't feast, but you know what - I don't believe those stories." He was breathing hard; unnecessary breaths, rage seeping from every pore. The remains of his nose was flattened across to the left of his face. "The Initiative didn't fucking touch you. You just put that story out to cover up the fact that you've lost your fucking nerve." He moved out to the right, looking for an opening. Spike blocked the move, coming further around to the right and forcing the Leader to keep his back to the fallen tree.

"Talk, talk, talk." Spike said. He couldn't be bothered with trading such pathetic _fightin' talk_. Not when there was _actual_ violence to be had. "Let's you and I go at it and let me see if I can't give you a couple of eyes to go with that nose." Behind him he heard the Slayer grunt as her fist connected with undead flesh.

The Leader lunged and they connected again. Fists and feet and fangs and claws. Hard and relentless. They pounded each other for an eternity. It was a good match, and as it went on Spike had to admit a creeping respect for the Leader: he was experienced and tough. Just not quite tough enough.

One last time Spike pushed him back against a tombstone. The Leader sagged against it and Spike bounced on his toes. There wasn't much left of his adversary: blood and mashed up facial features, a broken fang, bloody claw marks, but still he would not run or lay down. The anger Spike had felt earlier, the urge to pound Sire arse into pancakes, was evaporating too. Maybe he had been too hasty...

"Get up." Spike encouraged, offering proper honour to his opponent. Vamp to vamp, death on your feet was the only way to go. The Leader did step away from the tomb, eventually, but did not lunge at him. Instead his features flowed back into his human guise and he straightened up. Spike cocked his head, frowned. What the - ?

"You've beaten me Traitor." He slurred the words through broken jaws. "But remember this: when its all over and done it won't change the fact that you're still scum. I won't fight you anymore. You're not worth it." Then the Leader turned his back. "You're nothing. You're beneath us."

And the world slipped into silence. Disbelieving stillness.

...

Spike felt his unbeating heart swell agonizingly in his chest. He took a shaky breath, and then another. The rage that had been disappearing suddenly flared and burst out into every cell until each fibre was exploding with it. In that moment he was not just enraged, he _was_ rage. From him the word took its form.

With a roar he charged and took the Leader to pieces.

Anger, rage, hurt and fire. Claws and fangs, rip and tear. If the Leader fought back at all it didn't register. Screaming somewhere in the far, far distance played a sweet melody to his primal baseline. Flesh tore and tore and tore and bones broke and were splintered and pulped in his claws. Then dust. It exploded all around him and he fell forward, hitting the ground hard.

Silence.

He lay there, panting and snarling silently into the dusty earth. Fucker. Mother _fucker_.

Silence.

Hang on, too silent. _Where's everyone gone?_ Slowly, he pushed himself upright, onto his knees, then his feet, and looked around. In the clearing the remaining players were all still there: two vamps, Buffy and Dawn. Except they weren't playing anymore. Every one of them was frozen, like life size game pieces, each with their head turned in his direction.

Oh...

"What?" He snarled after a second. "Can't a bloke have a bit of fun?" The Slayer blinked at him and he stared at her. Then he frowned, his nostrils flared. What was that-? "Look out!" He called out to her as one of the vampires suddenly came to his senses and charged.

Then it was on again. Dancing a glorious dance. The Slayer moved like greased lightning, fast and sharp and deadly. So sexy, so fucking _hot._ He kept one eye on her. Then he smelt it. What he had thought he had smelt before. My god...

Shit! Pay attention you bloody fool! He barely avoided a killing blow, instead ducking to take the impact side on. It threw him into the Slayer and they went down in a heap of tangled limbs. He had a moment to register the shock in her face, her eyes a mere inch from his, before the two vamps, also off balance, fell on top of them. Dawn screamed.

Then dust exploded to his right as the Slayer found her mark. A second later, one twist of his hands, and his own opponent was dusted. He rolled over. The Slayer was still there. He scented the air between them as their eyes met again, and again he frowned. It could not be true. It just couldn't be true, but it was. Mesmerized, shocked, unable to think he went with instinct, pushing closer.

She hit him.

Right hook across the face, splitting his already healing lip once again. Some of his blood sprayed over her soft white skin. _Pretty._ He smiled at her, eyes half shut, and rumbled deep in his chest.

"... Get off me Spike!" Two hard hands suddenly pushed at his chest and he was lifted off her to land with a thump on his arse. She sprang to her feet. "Get off me! Gaaahhh!" The impact broke Spike's spell and he lay there staring up at the two Summers women.

"We're going home Dawn." Buffy said after a moment. Her voice was shaking. "NOW!" And they were gone and he was alone, lying in the dirt. Bloody _hell._

"... You bloody stupid son of a bitch! If you think I'm going to take orders from you, you can just think again! You're insane..." Rupert Giles paused for a badly needed breath as he paced angrily up and down. "You're worse than insane, you're... you're ... you're ... Oh, argh! Fucking hell, you want a bloody good killing off, you do! With a blunted spoon. With a wet shoelace. I've a good mind to come over there right now and ... "

"You did _not_ say that Ru."

"Yes I did."

"No you didn't."

"Well no, not out loud maybe, but it was all there in the way I hinted - 'no thankyou, being tortured horribly for all eternity in the pits of hell is not really up there on my list of _things to do before I retire_ , thankyou so terribly much for the offer.'" He sat heavily on the couch.

"So why did you say yes then?"

Giles turned his head as he laid it back on the couch and looked at his companion. She was still incredibly beautiful, even after all this time. How long had it been now? My god, it's been 25 years. Over two decades since that morning he had woken up, sick to his stomach, on the floor of his London squat to the same calm inquisitive dark eyed gaze that he was being subjected to at the moment. A quarter of a century since she had grabbed his unshaven chin and asked what no one, not even Ethan, had dared ask him - "Why are you trying to kill yourself?"

He reached out a hand and covered hers where it rested on her thigh, liking the way his hand fogged over in the warm golden glow of her aura. He sighed, suddenly feeling very tired and defeated. "How could I say no. They were right - it's been long over due and it could be so very valuable to the fight." But why did it have to be me...

"But why did it have to be you?"

"Stop reading me Annie." He scolded, but there was no malice in his voice. He could never be angry with her. Even when she cheated.

"I don't need to be able to _read_ you to know what you're thinking babe. You're right, why does it have to be you? There are others: many, many eager others. So many younger others, perhaps?" She smiled a small smile at his scowl. "So why you?"

"I'm expendable. Its something they knew I couldn't refuse. And if I hadn't accepted they would have sent some inexperienced child - " He smiled faintly when he felt Annie's warm hand on his arm, but then forced his thoughts back to the immediate. "Why are you here? Why didn't you tell me you were coming?"

"I was wondering when you would get around to that." She smiled her Mona Lisa smile.

"Well?"

"I don't think I'm going to tell you - yet."

"It's a little late for _coy_ Anita." Giles chided with a mock glare. "What are you hiding?" He squinted at her but her aura remained true. She laughed at him, but kindly. "Tell me!" He demanded. He grabbed one of her hands, and captured the other.

"Impatient. Always so bloody impatient!" She laughed and grabbed his hands so that they were holding onto each other at last. She smiled at him and he felt his heart shudder in his chest. He remembered _that_ smile and it blossomed one of his own. "You were always so impatient. I remember that." Her tone had become wistful as she moved a little closer. He followed suit. Closer. Lips almost touching she suddenly grinned - "don't they have a medical term for _impatience_ now?"

"Cheeky cow! I'll show you impatience." And he cut her off with a kiss as her hands slid under the tails of his shirt.

Knock, knock, knock. The front door rattled on its hinges.

"Expecting someone?" Annie said into his ear.

"No. Ignore them, they'll go away."

Knock, knock, knock.

"I don't think so."

"Don't think."

KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK!

"Blast." Giles sat up with a frustrated growl. "Don't move; I'll be right back."

KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK!

"ALRIGHT, ALRIGHT!" He charged at the door and yanked it open. "What - oh, Buffy. Er, hello." The Slayer barged straight past him and he didn't need to be able to read auras to see that something serious was up. Again. Crap crap crap. He glanced at Anita, pressed his lips together in frustration, and rubbed a palm over his head. Annie smiled teasingly at him from behind the arm of the couch. _Don't do that!_ He glared. She touched her tongue to her lower lip. _Stop that, you_ \- he gave up and turned away from her. Buffy was gone.

He heard movement and looked across the room where his charge had marched. Refusing to look toward the couch again, he followed his Slayer into the kitchen. He found her; arms folded, face white and pinched, leaning stiffly against the kitchen sink. Something was definitely wrong. The clean pure blue of her aura was marred with something that immediately doused any thoughts of romance.

"What's happened?" He asked. "Are you alright? Buffy?" She didn't reply. "Buffy?" He said again, softly this time, and padded closer. Apprehension and confusion furrowed his brow. "Buffy, please tell - "

"I - " She started. Then stopped, and she looked at him. A shadow passed over her face, some decision was being made inside that blond head, and suddenly she was talking again. "Vamps. Five of them." He looked at her curiously. Frowned. Her aura was doing something very odd, something he couldn't quite put into words. "Dusted 'em all." She said.

"Right." He nodded slowly. _This isn't what you came here for; we both know it._ "Good. Was that all?"

"Yes - " she wasn't looking at him. Again.

"Buffy - "

"Just reporting in. You know: patrol report. Reporting an encounter." She trailed off. Picked at his bench top. "Reporting... Stuff." He cocked his head, exasperated and yet worried enough to reach out and grip her shoulder. When she looked up he cocked his head toward her, prompting. He could see her aura squirming. Even if she was trying to hide her disquiet he could see it.

The phone rang. He ignored it. Buffy didn't.

"You're phone's ringing."

"Yes."

"Aren't you going to answer it?"

"Aren't you going to answer me?" The phone stopped mid ring and Annie's voice floated softly into the kitchen. She was whispering, but to a Slayer's ears it would make no difference if she had yelled. Buffy's eyes immediately flicked in Annie's direction. Giles sighed and shut his eyes briefly. Dammit.

"Oh, you have company." She straightened up. Nervous, apologetic voice. "I should go."

"Buffy, it's alright." He did not release her shoulder. "You came here to talk to me about something that is obviously upsetting you, and I wish you would stop this prancing about tell me." She didn't speak. "I am your Watcher Buffy, but I am also your friend - "

"RUPERT! Rupert, come quick. Its the Council." Annie suddenly interrupted him, her voice strained. Urgent even. Nothing flustered Anita, nothing, except for - oh no, it couldn't be. _Not now, not now_.

"What is it?" He charged out of the kitchen. Annie was standing, phone stretched out toward him, one hand clamped over the mouthpiece. She looked pale and sweat glinted softly on her upper lip. _What the hell?_ Giles' heart began to race in his chest. "What - ?"

"The Council: they say he's escaped. They've lost him - " She didn't get to finish. There was a sudden crack of wood slamming into brick. The explosive sound amplified inside the house. It stabbed at Giles' eardrums and he froze for just a second, shocked. Then instinct took over and he was moving. He swiveled around on his heel, hand automatically reaching for the nearest object - his desktop lamp - and raising it to strike. Buffy appeared in his peripheral vision, stake drawn. And there in the shattered doorway, silhouetted in the streetlight, a lone figure stood. Predatory. Silent. Waiting for an invitation.

"Hello Ripper."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"Sorry about that bit of melodrama mate, sometimes forget how fragile the physical is. What, not going to invite me in?" Ethan smiled. Or sneered. Buffy could never tell. It never seemed to confuse her Watcher though; he definitely came down on the side of sneer.

In the blink of an eye Giles had dropped the lamp and was across the room, taking Ethan by the throat. Buffy didn't follow him like she wanted to. She suddenly couldn't move. Not even a finger. Something dark and primal had been woken with his lunge and was shifting deep inside. She felt paralysed by it. So instead she stared. Eyes locked on the muscles bunching and shifting as her Watcher's shirt pulled tight across his back. An abstract of shadow and form. An erotic study in fury. She could see it pushing at its prison of skin and cloth, trying to escape, to wreak its havoc on the world. She could smell it too. Feel it. Hear it crackling in the static of the room. Its velvet black, blood red savagery set her senses on fire and a feral smile suddenly pushed at her lips. _Hurt him._ _Do it. Do it._

"Rupert no!" The dark haired English woman with the phone dropped the receiver and lunged after Giles. She grabbed at his forearm and tugged. "Stop it." Her voice cut the air like a blade. As urgent, commanding and fierce as her Watcher could be, but Giles did not let go and Buffy's smile grew sharp and cold and alive with anticipation.

"You heard the lady." Ethan was croaking. "Now be a good chap and - "

"Rupert, please." The woman appealed again. And then Giles was moving. He stepped back from the doorway and dragged the other man inside with a single convulsive movement. He pushed him up against the wall instead.

"What the hell are you doing here Ethan?" Her Watcher's voice was like ice and Buffy shivered. "Think very carefully before you answer." Ethan made a choking sound, and motioned at his throat with one hand. Giles relaxed his grip. "Don't try anything. Nothing. I warn you: nothing."

"Fine fine fine." Ethan said and rolled his eyes. They rolled toward the woman and suddenly widened in recognition. "Anita! How lovely to see you looking so well." Giles slammed his head against the wall. It made a dull, thick thud. Earthy. Fleshy. _Nice_ , Buffy thought, feeling a small wave of heat roll through her guts. A spark ignited and reflexively she loosed her spidey senses into the room searching, searching, searching, for something... Some _one_. But he wasn't there - NO, CRAP! She took a sharp breath, held it. Dammit. Dammit. Dammit. What the _hell_ is the matter with me?

 _Break the cycle, break the cycle..._

"Do you have a death wish or what? What are you doing here? How did you get away from the Initiative?" She marched over to the English trio, hands clenched into fists.

"And the Slayer. Well isn't this just very special: a welcoming party." Ethan grinned despite himself. Giles squeezed. Ethan choked. "Alright, Ripper, alright. Bloody hell. I'm here on Council business."

"Liar." Buffy snapped.

"What she said." Giles seconded. "What are you doing here? Last chance." Buffy could virtually smell her Watcher's invitation to his captive: _give me an excuse, any excuse..._ She understood that. She had _lived_ that (taken special delight in, and drawn strength from that), but to see it in her gentle Watcher was to put up in blazing lights just how wrong it was: how false, how twisted and evil; how she, how _they_ , must never give into it.

The Slayer swallowed the lump in her throat and pursed her lips. She just _had_ to find out what was wrong with her. Natural attraction to Hell be damned, this wasn't right, it couldn't be right. How could the Slayer fight Hell, how could her Watcher help her, if the first time she encountered it face-to-face all she wanted to do was roll in it? Like a dog. Like some kind of freaking rabid animal.

"I _am_ on bloody Council business. _"_ Ethan was protesting. _"Look_ at me Rupert - am I lying?" Buffy followed Ethan's suddenly piercing stare, and saw her Watcher frown. Squint. Then blink and cock his head the same way he did when he was searching his bookshelves. Weird. And then he was frowning again. "Right." Ethan nodded, a tight humourless smile touching his lips. "See. I told you." Huh?

"Giles what-?" She started.

"Ask them." Giles ignored her, and barked harshly over his shoulder to Anita. His gaze never left Ethan's face. The woman, however, had other ideas and did not immediately let go of his arm. Buffy saw her fingers flex, applying pressure. A warning? A caution? Whatever it was her Slayer senses registered the tiny relaxation in the arm and hand pinning Ethan to the wall. "Ask them. Please." Calm, controlled voice once again. Anita released him.

"Well, isn't that a relief." Ethan said. "Three cheers for you Anita. Now, if you would just move in and marry the git - ergh!" Giles squeezed. Ethan shut up. Then they waited, frozen in place and listened to Anita's voice. And wondered at the silences.

"Its true." Anita suddenly addressed them again. "Its true. He's working for the Council. They say he's one of them; they say he's a part of your team."

Ethan stared at Rupert, waiting for the man to do him some serious injury. He was more than capable, and more than motivated. It wouldn't be the first time either, but his friend was not moving. Instead he was slowly going that whiter shade of pale that Ethan remembered so vividly from so long ago. That he recalled with an hysterical kind of fear, actually, though he would never admit as such. Especially not to Ripper himself.

Unlike most people about to really erupt Rupert Giles did not go red, or even pink. He did not shake or rage about like some rabid gorilla. He didn't yell or scream. He went ashen and quiet. Expressionless. Like ice. Ethan had seen him beat a Haunsa demon to death with a face as calm as sleep, and discounting the completely pathetic hand wringing breakdown afterwards, Ethan had been mightily impressed. And afraid.

A combination that he was presently re-experiencing.

"Well, colour me stunned." Buffy said from behind her Watcher. Sarcasm dripped from every syllable. "And here I was thinking how cool and so totally not-insane the Council are. Please don't tell me that he's going to be hanging around."

"No, he isn't." Giles suddenly snapped out of his building rage. He released his death grip on Ethan's throat and stepped back a fraction. "Watch him. If he moves - break his legs."

"Only his legs?" The Slayer asked. She folded her arms and looked up at Giles. Ethan looked at the young woman and pursed his lips - she wasn't being as entirely facetious as she sounded. Which wasn't very much to start with really.

"I'll leave that to your discretion." Neither was her Watcher.

This had better be worth the bloody trouble...

Rupert backed up and collected the phone from Anita. His other hand surreptitiously sought out one of Anita's, protectively pulling her close to him. Ethan rolled his eyes. Oh for the love of Mike, it had been over 20 years! When would the man realise that Annie was not in any danger from him; that Annie had _never ever_ been in any peril at the hands of one Ethan Rayne. If anything it was just the opposite. Rupert was never going to pull his head out from his arse and realise though. Too busy playing Tarzan to his Jane. Too busy with his testosterone high and getting his belly scratched.

 _Lucky dog._

"So, how's this slaying-gig working out for you then?" Ethan asked Buffy as Rupert pushed the phone to his ear.

"Keep on making noise and you'll find out."

"Just trying to make conversation! It's been an age since we caught up."

"Yeah I remember, it took me my whole allowance to get rid of the evidence. A whole summer without serious mall-time. That kind of stress can leave a girl with scars. Oh wait a minute - it did."

"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL HAVE YOU ARROGANT CRETONOUS SONS OF BITCHES BEEN SMOKING?" Ripper suddenly bellowed. Buffy jumped as if she'd been tazered and whipped around to stare. "ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MINDS? No... No, I really couldn't give a flying fuck about ... Well then the deal is off. Yes, you heard me correctly... Well you can just... just kiss my arse Knightly... I..." Well that was going well! Ethan shook his head, a small, amused smile curling the edges of his mouth.

His gaze slid around the room, gauging, calculating, unashamedly sticky-beaking. _Is that Whisky? Ooh, it is!_ Taking advantage of the fuss he slipped deeper into the lounge room and went for the bottle sitting on the overflowing desk. It was half full and a very good brand. Ethan grinned as he unscrewed the cap and poured himself a generous shot using Ripper's glass. If nothing else, being raised in the top societal ranks certainly gave one the dosh to afford the finer things in life. He sniffed at the glass' contents. Nice, very nice. Ooh, and what was this? Tilea. Soarevale. Oh, excellent. He sat down at the desk and pulled the ancient text closer. In the background Ripper was still giving what-for to the idiots at HQ. Good going old boy, he thought absently, just you let them know whose boss and leave us grownups to read in peace...

Ooh!

 _I knew it - I was right, I knew it-_

"Get away from that!" It was Ripper. The book was slammed shut. "And put that glass down. I am not going to be your personal bar as well as your bloody keeper."

"Let me guess: you lost the debate?" Ethan said, looking up. Giles' expression was as dark as night and he did not reply immediately, so Ethan decided to go with the moment. "I assume they told you why I am here?"

" _You_ tell me."

"Very untrusting of you old man! I like it." He grinned: fast and sharp and fleeting, but Ripper's expression only darkened further so he hurried on. "Alright, Reader's Digest version, and its all very simple really: the Council is the only thing standing between me and a very unpleasant return to the bosom of that very improbably named Initiative.

"The Council want these blood pools investigated. They want you and the Slayer to do it, but they need something to make their little nightmare a reality. Chaos magicks. The darkest of arts. That's where I come in. I help you do what needs to be done and in return they give me a running start on our little weekend warriors."

"How did you get away from them in the first place? Riley - " The Slayer asked.

"Ah, your soldier boy. Well, fortunately for yours truly not all of them are quite so dedicated. Not quite so - stubborn, shall we say."

"Mind control." Giles' said. It wasn't a question and didn't need an answer. Standing beside Ripper Annie pursed her lips in disgust. Some things never changed... How hypocritical. He smiled a knowing, indulgent smile at his fellow English. "Did you kill any of them?"

" _Ripper_." Ethan admonished, using his best, most sincere voice and hoping its tenor transferred to his aura. Giles closed his eyes briefly. Oops...

"Wait a minute. Giles?" The Slayer spoke up, eyes wide and dark. "Blood pools. The... The Council want us to go find the blood pools? After what happened with the tiny itty bit of hell blood they want us to go find the whole pool? When did they tell you that? When were you going to tell me? Why are you taking orders from them again?"

Giles looked down at his charge, opened his mouth, closed it and then looked at Ethan. He pointed a finger in his face. "You will sit here and not move, not so much as a finger, until I get back. The Council may trust you but I do not and I will not hesitate to do what I should have done a long time ago if you persist in pissing me off." Ethan just nodded - he knew when to stop. He did. Usually. Mostly. Sometimes. O.K. hardly ever, but this time he was on target.

Ethan watched in silence as Giles ushered Buffy out of sight into the kitchen. Murmuring, muttering voices floated back into the lounge room: a high, urgent staccato melody against a deeper calmer bass. Ethan looked up at Anita.

"Well now love." He said with smile. "What brings you to our lovely Sunnydale then?"

"What are you really doing Ethan?" Anita ignored his question. "Really. What are you up to?"

"I told you, the Council have got me by the balls. I help Ripper and they let me go."

"You are going to _help_ Rip- Rupert?" She corrected herself with a wince and Ethan grinned.

"Its alright to call him that you know. Ripper I mean. Its who he really is after all."

"It is not. Why do you persist in calling him that after all these years?"

"Because that _is_ who he is. Come on Anita, you were there. You _saw_ what he was, what he did. _Who_ he did. No one could just let all that go. Ripper is Ripper, he's just chosen to ignore it for a while."

"You're wrong."

"Am I?"

"You are and you had better stop goading him, or-"

"Or what? He'll lose control? He'll stop hiding from who he is, and the world will become a much more interesting place to live in once again?"

"Or you will have to deal with me."

"Really? Is that a promise?"

Giles re-emerged from the kitchen leading his very subdued charge. His explanation had gone over like the proverbial lead balloon, which was understandable, but the scale of Buffy's reaction was very odd. They had set off to face their share of danger numerous times, but never once had he seen his Slayer react the way she had tonight. Anger, yelling, or even a flat out refusal to co-operate he expected, but not this, this disturbing lack of ferocity of feeling. There was something serious troubling her. Something she would not put into words. It was radiating out in distressed waves that rippled and frayed the edges of her aura, and once or twice he thought he glimpsed the faint black/red that had stained it after she had tasted the Hell God Blood. It might have been his darkened mood though. Just the knowledge that _bloody Ethan_ was in the next room was seriously distracting him with his own darkness, his own misgivings.

When he re-entered the room he was relieved to see Annie unharmed. Only radiating deep frustration. He pursed his lips. The sooner they got this over with the sooner they, he, could be rid of Ethan.

"Right." He announced, and everyone looked at him. "The _other_ Council representative will be here very shortly I am told. He should be on his way from the airport now. That gives us more than enough time to ready ourselves. Let's get started."

"Now?" Ethan asked, looking surprised.

"Yes, now. The Council may have forced this little collaboration but that doesn't mean it has to last any longer than absolutely necessary. Buffy-" he looked the Slayer "can you be ready in an hour?"

"Sure," she nodded. Tight little movements that looked almost painful. It hurt to look at too, and once again Giles found himself wishing that she would say what was wrong. "I'll grab some stuff from home and be back here ASAP. I'll leave a note for Mom. And don't look at me like that, you know I won't tell her what we're really doing." And she was striding away. Giles watched her go. A very large part of him was still hoping she might turn back and - but it looked like she was going to take her own sweet time. Once again. He exhaled heavily through his nose, pursing his lips. "Small arms only." He called after her. "Nothing too heavy."

"Got it." She called over her shoulder and was gone. He turned to Ethan.

"I'm going up stairs for a moment. Stay here, and don't touch anything. You know I'll know it if you do. Anita?" He motioned to her and they both climbed up to the upper floor. Once they had reached his bedroom he shut the door behind them. "I'm so sorry Annie."

"About what?"

"About all," he gestured helplessly "this. This hopeless bloody mess. I really wanted to spend some time with-"

" _Wanted_ Rupert?" Annie moved closer. "I travelled a million bloody miles to see you and if you think I am going to get back on the plane now, you can just think again." Giles blinked at her and a rush of happiness burned his insides. Immediately he tried to squash it before she saw. It wasn't right. She mustn't come with them. She mustn't, no matter how much he wanted it. If anything happened to her...

"Annie, you - " He began, and saw her smile. Dammit, busted. He felt the last of his resolve melt in to a puddle at his feet. It was wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

"Shut up." She reached up and rested her forearms on his shoulders. Her thumbs tickled the hair at the base of his skull. "Now, you told your Slayer to be back in an hour. From my calculations that gives us at least ten minutes preparation time."

"Ten? What about the other fift- Oh." He started, surprised when he knew he shouldn't be. He smiled. "What about Ethan?"

"What about him?"

"He'll hear us."

"Yes, he will won't he."

"He won't be happy."

"Pity about that."

"It would be cruel."

"Inhuman even."

"I love you, you know."

"I'm counting on it."

Dawn was too pissed off to sleep. Lying, rigid with said pissed-offedness, in her bed she listened to the night sounds and sulked flagrantly, without remorse. Buffy was such a bitch. Just because she was the big sister, the big stupid Slayer, it did not give her the right to treat her younger sister like a baby. Like some stupid child that needed constant checking on. She was nearly 15, for gods sake, and she didn't need a baby sitter. She was old enough to know what she wanted and it sure as hell was not that. Spike understood. He knew that she was no baby, and he had shown her that tonight. _And how._..

Spike.

 _He was soooooo hot._ All lean and dangerous and gorgeous like that cheetah she had watched pace its cage at the zoo last summer. Get too close and he would pounce. All claws and fangs and hottness. Dawn shivered suddenly, thrilled with the picture that was forming in her mind, and wondered if he would have pounced tonight if Buffy hadn't shown up? _Bet he would have._

Man, it had been so much fun until _Buffy_.

Dawn, rolled on to her side and drew her knees up to form an angry pretzel on her bed. And that was when she heard it: the soft click of Buffy's bedroom door. The Slayer was back from patrol, and back from beating up Spike she just bet. If possible her anger only deepened. As if Spike (as sexy as he was) was responsible for her late night wanderings! As if _anyone_ was but her. Dawn scowled into the darkness - if Buffy wanted to beat anyone up for that it should be her, Dawn!

She shot up from the bed, stormed out of the door and marched down the corridor to Buffy's room. Without knocking she pushed the door open. Buffy was still dressed and rummaging around in her weapons bag with jerky, strained movements.

"What do you want Dawn? You should be in bed." The Slayer spoke tersely without looking up. She tossed aside a crossbow, considered it for a moment and then pushed her hand into the bag again.

"I can go to bed when I want." Dawn folded her arms. "Where have you been? Did you beat up Spike?"

"Spike? What? No. Look, Dawn I don't have time for this. Go to bed." Some huge nailed thing was tossed on to the bed. A length of rope. A sword.

Buffy paused then, and stared down at this last weapon. Then, with a decisive motion she scooped it up, slipped the blade into a neat little leather scabbard and heaved it over one shoulder. A second later it was secured in place with a belt across her chest. The pommel poked up above her right shoulder.

"What are you doing?" Dawn demanded. No answer. More weaponry was piled on the bed. "Its something big isn't it? Tell me." Buffy was still ignoring her, shrugging into a bulky black parka now. A huge torch, a thrice-blessed silver cross (a gift from Angel that was so potent it had burned through the two inch thick bottom on the wooden box he had been carrying it in, giving the vampire third degree burns on both hands) and Mr Pointy disappeared in to the large zip pockets. Buffy continued to ignore her and Dawn pursed her lips. Time to break out the big guns. "I'll tell Mom." She threatened. That got a reaction.

"No you won't Dawn." Buffy stepped up close, moving so quietly Dawn didn't even hear it. "Go. To. Bed. Now!" Uh oh. She meant it and Dawn flinched despite her best efforts. She didn't quite have the guts to stand in her way as Buffy pushed passed and went down the corridor. Buffy rarely really threatened her, even by inference, so when she did Dawn noticed, and collapsed like a tower of cards. Like she just had then. Wait a minute... Damn it. Buffy hadn't dared sit on her or get all cat-fighty since she had gotten her super strength. Mom would kill her. Dawn charged back into the fray.

"Where are you going?" She demanded, finding her sister in the kitchen scrawling a note. "Why won't you ever tell me anything? I'm not a child-"

"Yes Dawn, you are." Buffy said. "And you should be glad for it. Now go to bed, and don't you dare tell Mom any stories." Buffy put the paper and pen in the centre of the bench.

"Well, I wouldn't have to if you would tell me what you were doing!" Dawn did block Buffy's exit this time, and folded her arms. Buffy stopped, an inch from her nose. Dawn held her ground.

"Its Slayer stuff Dawn. You know, running around in the sewers, chasing around in the dark and staking vamps. Slayer stuff."

"You're lying."

Buffy sighed explosively. Then she was pushing past, nudging her sister out of the way and disappearing out the front door. "Go to bed." The door clicked shut behind her and Dawn was left in the hallway so angry she was nearly shaking. A second later she had snagged her coat from the hall rack and was out the front door herself. Out into the cold and running after the Slayer.

Spike was in a devilishly good mood. Sitting atop his crypt and chain smoking and drinking cheap scotch, he was working on getting arse kickingly drunk. Cheerful drunk tonight though. He swigged at the bottle and thought happy thoughts. Nasty, happy little thoughts.

Buffy wanted him. She _wanted_ him. In all the most nasty, sweaty and debauched ways anyone could want anyone, Buffy wanted him. No, wait a minute, even better: _The Slayer_ wanted him. The _Slayer_ wanted a _vampire_ , and not the poofy souled kind either, to do the nasty with. To _fuck_. He bit his lower lip to keep from laughing, from snarling, from howling at the bloody moon.

Oh it was so sweet on so many levels.

He had known since he had first met her that Buffy got turned on doing her Slayer song and dance, particularly when the odds were against her. That was only natural though. He hadn't faced a Slayer that didn't. Hadn't really faced a vampire that didn't either - on some level at least. (Memories of Dru and he bloodying each other _whilst_ going for it down numerous back alleys suddenly flooded molten lava through his veins). And even that Watcher bloke got his rocks off. But this was far above the norm. This was unusual. This was new, and it was hilarious in bad, evil and nasty ways. He laughed out loud suddenly.

 _Bloody hell, the look on her face!_

Smoking and laughing to himself, Spike's mind raced. If his heart had been functioning he was sure it would have been hammering away in his chest. Bloody hell... For the first time since he had been chipped he felt something like his normal self. He felt powerful. Strong. Once again full of the spirit of the beast. He sucked the fag dead in one powerful inhalation.

The Slayer wanted him and she was terrified of it. He had made the Slayer afraid. Even neutered like this he had made her shake and lose her nerve; made her tremble before him like a daisy in the wind. He sucked down more booze. All sorts of delicious possibilities flooded through his mind. So many plans. So much mischief that just begged for expression. Maybe he would find Dru first and invite her to bear witness to his personal rebirth into the realms of Bad. Then she would leave that fucking Fungus demon and come back to her naughty, evil boy.

Oh yeah, the Slayer was going to get hers.

He looked down on the cemetery, his own private kingdom, and sniffed the air. Dead things were abroad, hunting, rambling around and feasting under the lamplight moon. He smelled the blood being spilled and drained; sensed it spurting out from ragged wounds. It was rich and hot and very, very human. He licked his lips. Oh for a bite. Just one. Just a little nibble. He smiled suddenly. Maybe he could? The way he was feeling tonight he just might be able to. Slipping down from the roof, flicking the fag and tossing the bottle, he vamped out and slipped away, melting into the blackness. And very softly, almost too quiet even for his own ears, he growled.

The bloody cheek! The bloody nerve of the pair of them! Going at it like rabbits right above his head whilst he was forced to sit and listen. Ethan pursed his lips and raised dagger eyes to the ceiling. Bastard.

Both of them.

"You're doing that deliberately Ripper. Anita. Don't think I don't know what you are up to up there!"No reply. Was that a giggle? He scowled.

 _Well now, two can play at that game..._

With a flourish he knew Ripper would feel, he poured himself another glass of booze and went back to Tilea's writings. His Romanian was rusty, but he could read enough to make do. Hmmm... He sipped at the whisky, bared his teeth at the sting and read the text. It really was too bad that the poor bastard had not made it back to the Council; it made the work all the harder now. More exhausting too. He sighed. Ever since escaping from the Initiative he had been on the run, a lot of the time quite literally, and he was beginning to feel it. Not as young as he used to be (and not as young as Ripper seemed to think he was with all that activity upstairs - going to feel _that_ in the morning _mate_ ).

It was the growing fatigue, and the failed Hell Blood experiment, that had finally turned him towards the Council. He had needed a place to lie low and the closeted, tight knit, desperate little bunch had seemed like the perfect cover. And once he had convinced them that they might once again have an open channel to the renegade Watcher, and by association: the Slayer, they had rolled out the red carpet. His connection to Ripper had been the icing on a very hastily baked cake.

He hadn't slept so well in months.

Then to discover that Ripper had contacted the Council about the blood pools, and that they were considering sending both he and the Slayer into the Sunnydale Hellmouth... Well, it had just been too bloody perfect for words. It hadn't taken any magicks or other trickery to push the little generals into allowing him on the team either. Only one lecture and one tediously longwinded threat in the event of any misbehaviour and they had virtually wet themselves with smug pride as they put his name down underneath Ripper's. Proficiency in Chaos magicks was rare and they knew how valuable he could be for their little tea party. Such a happy little accident that he was in their grasp just at the right time.

Not even old Travers' could threaten some sense into them. Thank the Powers.

For the next few days he had been paraded around like a captured rook one move from checkmate. Every little arse kisser, every ambitious climber of the greasy pole, wanted a piece of the action. And for a while he was content to indulge their little fantasy, drink their expensive sherry, sleep safely in their plush little hidey hole and try his luck with the women, but there was only so much bureaucratic buggery one could take and he had felt obligated to remind the self satisfied little silver tails just who it was they thought they had under their control. So, this morning, he had just walked away. Simply up and strolled out.

Just to put the wind up them.

And Ripper. He did not want them warning his old friend ahead of time. No telling what he might have been walking into if the Watcher had known anything in advance. He looked up at the ceiling and listened for a moment. Still at it. He was jealous. Hey, he was man enough to acknowledge it, to himself at least.

Anita. Such a remarkable woman. It was still a source of amazement to him that she had left Ripper when he had returned to the Council fold. After all, it was she who had encouraged his transformation back into that stuffed shirt: Rupert Giles, Watcher in training. She had weathered something very close to hell to do it too. And Why? He had asked her that one night, after she and his old mate had had a blazing row that had lit up the old building like it actually had the electric on.

Bloody hell that had been a thing to witness. Ripper, so red in the face that Ethan had thought he was having a stroke, screaming bloody murder like to wake the dead, and Annie, red as a beet giving as good as she got. Electrifying. Ethan had watched, feeling the power as it grew like a static charge in the air. The magic laced fury had blasted across his senses like dynamite. There was such power in it. Such potential. If only Ripper had realised it at the time.

Ethan clearly remembered being nearly beside himself with excitement. Watching from the fireside, eyes wide, as the two lovers tore stips off each other. So fucking amazing. The scent of magicks hung heavy in the air, sulphurous and thick. He remembered Annie screaming something about Ripper doing the 'Walk of Death' incantation on himself over her dead body (which was kind of an amusing pun really), and then Ripper becoming alarmingly pale and silent. He had lunged across the room, in a moment of pure rage and caught Annie off guard, slamming her back into the wall. Chunks of plaster had avalanched down onto the pair. A white flurry. He remembered thinking, absurdly, that it looked like they had been caught out in the snow. A millisecond later Ripper scuttled back from her like she was a hot coal and was out the door and gone. He didn't come back for three days.

Why was she doing this? Ethan had asked her. Didn't she realise just _what_ Ripper was capable of, just _who_ he was? Why did she want to return him to that stifled existence he had fled from? She had looked at him and said something so vomitously pitiful that for the longest time Ethan just could not fathom the logic. It was twisted and bizarre and stupid for someone of her calibre. What the hell could she be thinking trying to force Ripper back into his straight jacket? He was just coming into his own and it was bloody brilliant. She couldn't say that he didn't enjoy it. She couldn't say that he wasn't a natural; that he wasn't born for the dark arts. And she sure as shit could not say that it was not a bloody fantastic higher than high, fucking trip the light fucking fantastic, ride of all of their lives. Hell, he had seen _her_ getting into it. More than once too. So it was the most ridiculous, dangerous, incomprehensible, soppy pile of mush worthy of Barbara bloody Cartland when she just looked at him, (with a strange haunted, hunted look that made him burn all the brighter with curiosity, just as he suddenly regretted this confrontation) and said - "I love him."

Gaaah!

Bloody women! Why couldn't she just _love_ him the way he was?

Well, Ripper had never been quite the same after that night, and no amount of persuading, pleading, or fighting could get his friend back. He started spending more and more time with Anita and away from the rest of them. He started to fight with everyone too, and the atmosphere in their dark little commune started to go sour. It was the Yoko factor at work in their own bloody backyard.

It didn't last though and, very soon, some light began to shine at the end of the tunnel. In the first weeks of summer Ripper made an utterly disastrous parental visit, (Anita's idea, he was sure of it) and had returned early, steamingly mad and carrying an ancient tome he had stolen from his father's library. _Eyghon_ , Ripper had said as he tossed the book into Ethan's lap. He had not bothered to explain at the time, being more intent on drinking their entire cache of cheap wine and trying to coerce Annie into bed, but all was soon made clear. Ethan smiled. Without a doubt, those next weeks had been the best of his whole life. Not even Anita's reservations could put a dampener on it. Ripper, hell all of them, had been magnificent.

Then people started to get hurt. And then someone died. Which, to be realistic, is bound to happen when you are just starting out and getting in too deep. Shit happens. They had all known that and accepted it. Everyone except Ripper it seemed... And Anita was there to take advantage. Hell, all that was really needed was a little nudge to get back on the dark horse, and the Powers knew Ethan had tried to give him the leg up he needed, but it had come to nothing. They had been tight once, but Ethan knew he could not compete with Anita for Ripper's attention anymore. Ever since that ballistic argument, when he had come so close to hurting her, his old mate had developed an emotional fuse. It blew with monotonous regularity whenever he argued with his lover, which was hardly ever anymore. So Ethan was forced to take the passenger seat and watch as, within weeks of the unfortunate death, Ripper gave way to Rupert and they lost him to the Council.

Ethan drained his glass and poured another, giving the ceiling the evil eye. He had vowed to himself that he would never let anything like that happen to him. There was a bright future for Ethan Rayne, full of fun and fireworks, and no one was going to stop him from getting there. No one. Not even Anita.

"Er, excuse me?" A small, wavery voice suddenly interrupted his brooding and he looked up. There was a thin blond young man with earnest looking eyes, standing awkwardly in the doorway. He had a bulky black bag in one hand and a suitcase in the other. He couldn't have been more than 19 or 20, Ethan noted, and also could not be anyone but Council. No one could wear an ill-fitting suit like a Council trainee. No one else would be caught dead in a tweed get up with a red stripy tie. No one else could be such a walking stereotype. Ethan cocked his head, amused and disgusted.

The Council had said that they were flying someone out from England, especially for this picnic. This had to be him: green and skinny and probably a Mummy's boy despite the mandatory Watcher training. For the millionth time Ethan wondered just what the bloody hell Ripper had been attracted to in such a bleeding crèche. There had been a time that the both of them had laughed at the very thought of it.

"My name's Frost, Edward Frost."

"Well, how very nice for you Mr Frost." Ethan said, rasing his glass in a mock toast.

"Oh- Er-..." Mr Frost blushed red as he stuttered away like a ninny. "Uh, and you are - Mr Giles?"

"No. I'm afraid not."

"We- Well, uh, where-" The boy's face crinkled in confusion. He looked down at a dirty, crumpled scrap of paper wedged into the fingers holding the bag. He squinted at it, cocked his head and nearly dropped his luggage. Ethan cocked his head, watching as the uncoordinated fool struggled and fumbled and mumbled apologies. _This_ was the Council's man? A small splinter of worry suddenly pricked his mind. If this was their choice then what did it say about the mission...?

"Oh, you've got the right house mate. Its just that _Mr_ Giles is a little busy at the moment."

"Oh." Edward said, managing to look confused, startled and stupid all at once.

"Yes, he's upstairs."

"Oh."

"Fucking."

"Oh!" He dropped the luggage.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Unnoticed, even by his own kind, Spike padded through the darkness. Slipping between the trees and tombs as perfectly and silently as a shadow following its maker, he disturbed not a blade of grass and startled no creature with his passing. The very moon was ignorant of his presence. It felt good. Power, like fire, rolled through his guts, his limbs, and once again he was a Lord - no, _fuck it_ , he was a _King_. He bared his fangs at the night. Imagined sinking them into something hot and squirming. Shivered with the thought. Rrrrrr... Oh yeah, he was back; he was bloody well back all right! Spike. William the Bloody. Plunderer of China. Killer of Slayers. All these things and more. He was the Beast. He was the wild thing that crouched, quiet and deadly, at the heart of the blackest myth.

A bloody savage untameable monster, yeah!

He spotted a pair of Undead working the south entrance and paused to watch them pounce on a pair of lovebirds strolling passed the gates. Proudly vamped out and rushing their Prey in roaring glory, they had to chase them half way down the block before he saw all four go down in a thrashing of limbs. The screams were piercing; almost drowning out the heavy bass snarling that accompanied it. He could hear it though. As clear as a fucking bell. He shivered. It was a less subtle and refined method than he preferred, but bloody hell if he hadn't felt its power in his very marrow.

He remembered hunting like that himself, when he had been much younger and bloody death was new. That night, so long ago, when Drusilla had saved him from Angelus and unleashed him on an unsuspecting London. That first kill. Dru's squeal of proud delight. His own preening swagger afterwards. And then fucking like wild things in the mess left behind. All fangs and claws and nastiness.

That night had seemed to go on forever. Rollicking and rambling around the old city, getting stoned on death and destruction and becoming the wild animal that he could feel snarling inside once again. He remembered bringing his princess tokens of his love and gratitude, torn fresh from still kicking Prey, just how she liked. He remembered the blood, like the finest silk, that covered her lips. He remembered biting at those lips...

Oh yeah.

He wanted those feelings back.

He wanted them now.

Turning back into the cemetery Spike began searching for a suitable ambush site, something appropriate for a return to glory. It took a while. Since being chipped he had taken no more than a passing interest in such things. What was the point in rubbing his nose in his own impotence? But now he took delight in it. Tonight it might happen. Something had happened that had made the Slayer want him and be terrified of it. Did she know something about him that he himself did not? He was sure something was different. He felt good. He felt hungry.

He was going to eat.

He found a tree, overhanging the west entrance. It had good thick branches and so much foliage he would be hidden from everything, even the Slayer. Scaling it, he crouched on a branch and looked out into the streets. He sniffed the air. There was promise on the breeze and he was in a mood to be patient.

Soon enough though he heard and smelled Prey approaching rapidly from the city. They were heading straight for the graveyard. Mmmmm... Wait a minute... Bollocks, it was the Slayer. And her Watcher. Three others lunchables though, but they would be more trouble than they were worth at the moment, what with being scented with magicks and protected by the Slayer and all. He did not want a confrontation with Her tonight anyway. He wanted a nice quiet kill, free from distraction.

A few minutes later the unwelcome party marched underneath his boots. He watched them go with ambered eyes. Watching the Slayer really. He could smell her from where he was and he inhaled, sharp and deep. Fear. Anxiety. It perfumed her scent like a spring bloom. His eyes narrowed and a rumble built in his chest. Sweet. Only his clenched fangs prevented some seriously violent, cover blowing purring. _So sexy._ What he wouldn't give for a taste of that...

With an effort, digging his claws deeply into the branch he clutched, he did not pounce. Not now. Not yet. Soon though, he promised himself. Very soon.

What was that?

Someone else was approaching. He could hear the faint scrape of foot on pavement. It was an alone someone. A small and light and tasty someone. A soon to be past tense someone. Nostrils still tingling with Slayer fear Spike silently gathered himself. This was it. The acid test. The powerful feelings were still with him and he drew confidence from them. How could he be feeling this way if not because things were somehow different? If _he_ were not somehow different?

And here they came.

Lunch.

He watched the small figure scurry underneath his tree, and suddenly he felt a light fluttering in his belly. His palms began to sweat and he felt the unusual urge to breathe, fast and uneven. What the...? It was nerves! He was _nervous_. _Bloody, fucking, stupid, bollocks'ed-up-shit, sonnavabitch, wanking, sodding, bloody-buggery, FUCK!_ He was _nervous_! Unbelievable. William the Bloody had killed thousands of Prey and not one, but two Slayers and here he was having a panic attack over a tiny mortal that he could easily crush with a single pinky. Indignation and shame flushed his cheeks a faint pink. Rrrrrr. _Oh I'm not having this!_ It was one thing to be physically neutered, no shame in that, but quite another to find his mind had followed suit. _Oh no way, no fucking way! No, no, no, no, no._

And he was launching himself from the tree branch with a ferocious movement. The leap was perfectly timed and he collided with the Prey, bringing them both crashing to the ground. He was careful not to crush the human with the force of his collision though. He had something to prove now. He was going to _play_ and show the whole sodding world that William the Bloody, that _Spike_ , was back and as bad and mad and dangerous to fucking know, as he had been that first night in London. The graveyard would be red with blood and flesh by the time he was finished.

He would make his Undead brethren wonder and dread again.

They would write songs about him once more. Compose praises and sing them into eternity. Choirs celebrating him even as the sun went supernova and destroyed the world. No minion would be born that did not learn his name and give voice to it in their nightmares. He smiled, fangs flashing as they caught the moonlight. For all eternity they would howl, call his name to the bloody moon, and invoke the Terror that was William the -

"Oh sodding hell, its you. What are you doing back here?"

"Get off me Spike. And what are _you_ doing?" Dawn wiggled out from underneath him and glared. She brushed at the dirt on her knees. "What are you doing dropping out of the sky like that? You could have hurt someone." Spike climbed to his feet, still vamped out. Frustration boiled through his body. He clenched his fists by his sides.

"That was the general idea!" He growled.

"What? You can't hurt-" then the girl went pale. She stared at him. "What... What about your chip?" She asked, eyes going wide as saucers. She took a step back and Spike felt a slow smile spread over his face. _Well, well, well, the night may not be a total loss after all._ He licked at his lower lip and bit down on it, stalking toward her. Slow and easy. Not stopping until he was almost standing on her feet, he delicately touched her face with one black tipped claw. Ran it lightly down to the pulsing artery in her neck. It felt hot and alive against his cold flesh, so he kept his finger there despite the small warning ache (dammit!) gearing up inside his skull.

"Still interested in being Turned then, little bit?" Maybe he could take on the pain and win?

"What?" Small voice.

"Turned, you know: become a vampire, like me." He bent closer. Yellow eye to blue. "We could have some fun you and me. Stir up a right hornet's nest and show that sister of yours a time. Oh yeah. So," he leaned in closer still and sniffed at the pulse point. Tasty. Fear and blood mingling and spicing up the air. The pain throbbed brighter. He looked back into her eyes. "How do you want it then? I can do it fast, I can do it slow, I can even knock you out if you like. Wouldn't recommend that choice though, dying is not something you really want to miss. Biggest event besides birth and your first kill, after all."

"I... I..." The girl stuttered. No bravado now. No swagger or pout anymore, oh no. But no matter, all that would return and then some, after the event. Give her old Mum a right little shock it would. He could just imagine it, hell, he'd _done_ that kind of thing a few times. Always good for a laugh. _Heh, heh, heh: poor Joyce..._ Yeah, poor Joyce. Joyce with her little marshmallows and her open never-disinvited door.

 _"How's the mortal toil going then Mum Joyce?"_

 _"Spike! It's raining. Come in before you catch cold. Oh, do you vamp- er, peop-… catch uh cold?"_

"Its all right Joyce, you can say it you know. Me: vampire. Don't have any issues with what I am. Beats bein' a Raag demon anyway. They're nasty buggers they are, all covered in mucous and such- No dress sense either."

 _"Right. Sure. So do you, peop- I mean_ vampires _, catch cold?"_

 _"You know me Joyce: don't catch anything I don't mean to. Your eldest not about then?"_

 _"Buffy is at Mr Giles' tonight."_

 _"Heh! My sympathies. So... How about a bit of company?"_

 _"Sure, you can help me unpack these pieces. Wait a minute have you been smoking again?"_

 _"Moi?"_

 _"_ Spike _... In my garden? Again? After last week?"_

 _"Oh, don't sigh at me like that. Fine, I'll stop alright?"_

 _"Fine."_

 _"Fine."_

 _"Fine."_

 _"Fine."_

 _"You're lying."_

 _"Heh, heh, heh. So, how about putting the kettle on then?"_

Rrrr - no! He was a vampire, not some bloody Undead puppy. Dammit. He would _not_ think thoughts of sugar and spice and everything fucking nice. Sugar and spice was blood down his chin. Nice was the feeling of flesh breaking under his razor sharp fangs. Marshmallows played no part in a vampire's world. Even if they were the little white tasty ones that soaked up the hot chocolate like they were-

...!...

RRRRRRRRRRRR!

He pushed forward, fangs tingling. Dawn was frozen. A trembling little flower, rooted to the spot. It was funny; he had not expected Dawn to be the _paralysing_ kind. He thought the Summers' bloodline would have given her a little more spunk. A little more _bite_. A little more _something_.

Then he was pressing a deadly kiss to her baby sweet skin at just about the same time Dawn found some of that Summers' intestinal fortitude and kneed him forcefully in the crotch. And at just about the same time the chip went off. With a roar Spike staggered back. BLOODY FUCKING SHIT! Pain arced between his balls and his brain like an electrical current and he saw white for a heartbeat. Raw, pure, sweet as a mountain stream, snow blizzard hurt. Tender as a chainsaw. Sharp as Dru's nails in the deep London winter. His nerves screamed. _Sonnavabitch!_ _Sonnava-sodding-wanking-bitch!_

 _I'm burning in the sun..._

Then the blinding pain was fading and he found himself still standing, not prone like he thought he should have been. One hand was pressed to his head, the other doing a damn fine impression of a codpiece. And there was the source of his hurt. All five foot nothing of skinny little mortal girl, hands raised in front of her, forefingers forming a cross. He could see her shaking in her tiny little loafers. Tiny little Dawn in her tiny little mortal booties...

...!...

He laughed.

A tight bubble of hilarity burst high in his chest. It shouldn't be funny, but it was. He should be pissed as hell, but he wasn't. Instead he laughed until his ribs hurt along with his two most prized body parts. If his family were to see him now... Angelus would think his bloodline had gone bad – the infection he had visited upon his Drusilla, tainting her blood and now her little pet William has caught the madness from her like consumption. He stopped laughing. Angelus.

Spike straightened up and looked down at the girl, letting his human face out once again. Game over.

"Well hey - ." He drew in a lungful of air and pursed his lips, raised his eyebrows. Think, think, think. "April fool!" He finished lamely, letting the air out in a rush.

"What?" She stuttered after a moment. "It- Its not April."

"Really?"

"No... No, and, and... You scared me Spike!" White in the face for a whole load of new reasons now. She dropped the finger-cross in favour of forming two small hard little fists. "You shouldn't joke about things like that!"

"Hey, _evil,_ remember. Big, bad and nasty vampire." He cocked his head. "You seemed to like it earlier."

"That was different."

"How? Because you knew I was all chipped up?" He shook his head. "Don't tease if you can't follow through little bit: gives a fella the wrong idea. Lucky I'm a gentleman and all." He looked at her as she blushed. "What are you doing here anyway?" He glanced in the direction that the Slayer had taken. "Following big sis?"

"I followed her to Giles' place, and then the Magic Box and then here. She won't tell me what she's doing, but I know it isn't normal patrol stuff."

"Well isn't that just rude. I think your big sister is getting airs and graces."

"Huh?"

"What's say you and me set her straight." He grinned tightly; the night was suddenly looking interesting again. Not waiting for her confusion to resolve itself, Spike grabbed Dawn's hand and set off after the Slayer.

Edward Frost tripped over his feet, again. Giles heard the _oof_ from the rear of their group as they moved through the graveyard. Then a soft thud as knees hit the ground. Again. And again, the Watcher did not even pause. He was far, far too angry for that.

After coming down stairs and finding Ethan finishing off the hugely expensive bottle of whisky he had foolishly left in plain sight on his desk, and crumpling the pages of numerous ancient texts, he had been greeted by the equally grating sight of the Council's official agent. All five foot six of blond, skinny, puppy dog eager, tweed bound twit, standing in his living room. He could not have been more than 20. It was utterly, inexcusably and totally unacceptable. He had called the Council back and told them that too.

 _"... This is totally inexcusable!" He barked as the boy watched him with big blue startled eyes. The red gold of his aura was bright and guiless. It pulsed with potential, absolutely, but its honest purity was so distressing Giles had to look away. "I told you my terms for this assignment and you agreed. NO CHILDREN!"_

 _"Mr Frost is not a child Rupert." Knightly had replied. "He has logged 24 hours field time, under the -"_

 _"Twenty four!" Giles stuttered. "Twenty- Oh, well, why didn't you say so."_

 _"There is no need for sarcasm. Mr Frost is the Council's selection for this mission. It was agreed: your terms and ours and no objections."_

 _"Have you lost your mind Knightly?" Giles turned away fully away from Frost and hissed into the phone. "Don't you have any appreciation of how dangerous this is - Wait a minute, you do don't you? That's why you sent him isn't it; you don't want to waste resources. He's expendable."_

 _"That is an outrageous accus-"_

 _"Shut up Knightly, don't lie to me. You bastards."_

 _"Edward Frost has completed all of the mandatory training required for active field duty and has accepted this mission. We have accepted him. And so will you." There was a pause on the line. "Look Rupert, he is going solely as a witness, nothing more. He will record the mission for our archives. That is all."_

 _"He's going to get killed."_

 _"That is not a forgone conclusion. He has shown himself to be an astute adept, he's intelligent and he knows how to follow orders."_

 _"He's not coming."_

 _"Oh yes he is. He requested this assignment, he is capable and he is going with you."_

 _"He's no more than a child-"_

 _"And how old is the Slayer?"_

 _"That's different."_

 _"How? Was she any more prepared for her first assignment than Frost? There is always a first time Rupert. For all of us."_

 _"Not like this."_

 _"Maybe not, but we are at war or have you forgotten? We are all soldiers and we all have to face our first battle at some point. We don't always get to choose when or where either._

 _"For all our differences Rupert, I am glad that his first taste of the front line will be alongside yourself and the Slayer." Giles held back the retort that was poised on the tip of his tongue. Knightly was being genuine. He absolutely considered Frost expendable, but at the same time Giles got the impression that the man would rather that he lived through this experience - that he had an attachment to the boy, that he_ liked _him. And so he had put his sincere trust in both the Slayer and her Watcher to look after him._

 _Giles looked at the boy and frowned. His aura was still that fierce red gold and he was still staring at him. Oh they were a pack of bastards all right. Still, the more Giles peered at the boy, the more he looked into the flame coloured aura that bathed him body and soul, the more that strange potential impressed itself on his senses. There was something in him. Something._

 _"Alright Knightly, but just so we are clear: if he is not all that you say he is you and I are going to have a conversation."_

Giles was rehearsing that conversation, right now.

Up ahead of him Buffy was leading the way to the site. She had been all business after returning to his house, dressed in black, carrying her small cache of supplies in the coat pockets of her jacket and a sword strapped to her back, underneath the jacket. Still worried, he could see that, feel it really, but she was as ready as any of them were. As any of them could be.

 _"What's with Tweedle dweeb over there?"_

 _"That is Mr Frost. He is the Council's_ other _representative."_

 _"No, seriously, who is he? Oh, you are serious. Does his Mommy know he is out past his bedtime?"_

 _"_ Buffy _."_

 _"Oh come on Giles, look at him. He's all tweedy and geeky and English and - Er... Okay, extracting foot from mouth. But you know what I mean. They can't be serious?"_

 _"They are and we are just going to have to make do-"_

"We could leave him with Xander."

 _"And you will explain this to Xander how?"_

 _"Well... He's, he's your cousin-"_

 _"Why does he have to be_ my _cousin?"_

 _"What are you two plotting out there? No fair starting the scheming early. I thought you fought respectable Ripper!"_

 _"Shut up Ethan."_

"This is it." Buffy suddenly called out from up ahead. She had come to a halt in front of an ivy covered stone crypt. An undecorated block of a mausoleum in the furtherest corner of the Sunnydale cemetery. The oldest section. The oldest tomb. It squatted, heavy and solid, blacker than the night that surrounded it, in a nest of weeds and rubble. Abandoned. No one visited down here anymore. In the entire time Giles had spent in Sunnydale he had never seen anyone, anyone living at least, come down here. These people had faded from the memories of everyone who now lived and breathed, even their own descendents.

Well, they were going to get some visitors tonight.

Giles approached the door and squinted at it. In the nightly gloom it looked impregnable - fused to its stone frame by centuries of gravity and mould and rot and mud. He unclipped his torch from his belt and pressed the switch. A pool of light splatted against the building and he ran it slowly over the door. The lock was a rusted useless chunk. Good thing they had not wasted time hunting for a key. He pushed at the wood. It was cold, moist and spongy, and when he pulled his hand back rotten flecks of it stuck wetly to his fingertips. Oddly normal. _What were you expecting old man, a bright and shiny magickal portal that has somehow remained unnoticed for a few hundred years?_ He palmed his rune stone, pressed it to the door under his hand and concentrated, opening his senses. Tiny vibrations tickled his skin as the little charm shivered.

"What do you make of this Annie, Ethan?"

Without a word Anita drifted to his side and touched the back of his hand where it was pressed to the wood. His skin tingled with the contact and a tiny breeze wafted her scent his way: sweet roses and lavender. A distillation of everything he held dear. He turned his head.

In the gloom her aquiline profile was a silhouette: a fine smudge of velvet night and golden fog. And that soft sweet perfume... It was a beautiful reminder of a time when existence had been so real. When there was still hope of a choice. When there had been _life_.

A warm ember of memory fired his guts. Where had it all gone wrong? Life had been so simple. So full of promise.

So they had been living one level up from a cardboard box on the side of the road? So it had been cold and drafty and sometimes hungry? They had had each other and had gloried in that. They had been so free, so wonderfully unfettered and just wild with the ecstasy of it all. Power burst and poured from their hands. The night sky was theirs to play in. - to play _with_. To pluck out the stars one by one and paint the moon midnight blue... Where had it all gone sour?

They should never have left.

What an horrendous and unfixable error.

What a bloody loss -

The ember grew and suddenly he was ablaze with regret. They should never have left and it was all such a bleeding waste. And _she_ had been there. She had been there all along. The voice in the back of his mind: go home Rupert - go home and live. _Live_? What did she think he was doing? What the bloody fuck-?

They should be back there.

Tearing up the night. Prowling around in the alleys and abandoned buildings. Running through their old haunts, a ragged band of feral animals, eyes on fire with the knowledge that they were young and powerful and free and insanely happy about it all. The Terror of the Underworld. Yeah. Like it had been. Once upon a time... Adrenaline burned his veins. He inhaled sharply and the cold air burned his lungs.

No. Wrong.

The air should be on fire. Blood and fire. Screaming. Howling and roaring.

Incantations, like a waterfall, tumbled and rushed through his mind. All jumbled and yet all screaming the same thing. The same sweet desire.

Power.

Power.

 _Power._

"Rupert!"

 _Eyghon._

"Rupert!" A sharp sting across his cheek and he snapped his eyes open. _Her._ The thorn in his paw. The splinter in his mind. A snarl formed on his lips. They should never have left...

He threw her hand from his and turned, feeling tall and imposing. Feeling big and feral. Angry. Full of... And the fury died.

Oh no.

"No. It got me - again." Giles let his shoulders sag. That damn Hellmouth, that damn blood. "Annie - "

"Hush." She pressed her fingers to his lips for a moment. "I know. I felt it. Boy, it really likes you doesn't it?"

"Giles?" It was the Slayer. Standing tense and alert and close by his side. Her aura was intense.

"Its alright Buffy. Just opened myself up a little too far." He sighed. "Well, its here. We've found our doorway, just as Tilea indicated."

"And was then never heard of again." Ethan suddenly butted in, voice brittle. "Well!" He pushed abruptly passed them and looked at the door. With only a minute hesitation Ethan pressed his palm to the door. The action was a hungry one. His touched the ancient wood with the expectation of a lover. And Giles watched the man's aura change hue from its usual earthy brown to a deeper, darker, angrier shade. With a sudden frustrated exhalation Ethan let his hand drop. He rounded on Giles, doing a very poor job of trying to hide his disappointment. "Can you handle it for now?" He asked, making it sound like an accusation. "It would really be better to wait to use the protection magicks, they have a limited lifespan."

"I know. And yes I can handle it." He looked at his Slayer, refusing to be riled by Ethan. "Buffy?" He motioned to the door. She hesitated and looked at the blocked entryway. Her apprehension sent a wave of shivers through her aura, but then she was moving. Padding silently, cautiously, to the simple wooden door. The movement reminded Giles of a cat picking its way across a foreign garden bed: wary of every ordinary leaf, every flower, every blade of grass. Gingerly she touched the door with a single fingertip, then her whole hand, and then her shoulders suddenly drooped. Good. Giles looked back at Ethan.

"Let's go."

"Aren't we there yet?"

"Almost, sweet bit. Almost."

"You said that a few minutes ago. You've lost the trail haven't you."

"I have not."

"Yes, you have."

"No I bloody well haven't. I'll have you know that William the Bloody has tracked far trickier things in his time than one itty bitty Slayer. I know every part of this graveyard, and so if I take us on a short cut to head her off, then I know what I am - OW!"

"Gravestone."

"... Thank you."

The rotted door gave like cardboard under Giles' axe, large chunks of it disappearing with every blow. And with each new crack, each gaping split, Buffy's apprehension grew. Her palms had started to sweat first, and then the slight cool breeze began to chill her damp face. Now, almost shivery with nerves she shifted her weight from foot to foot, never relaxing the hand that held her sword ready to strike _,_ to defend her Watcher as he worked on the door.

 _Get a grip Slayer. Get a grip._

Beside her Anita stood silent, a watchful sentinel. Who was she? What was she doing here? Where did Giles get all these English women? And how many did he have for god's sake? Buffy snatched a quick glance and took in the long black hair, tied casually at the nape of her neck, and the seriously aristocratic features that presented a cutting profile in the evening gloom. Who was she, this woman who was so intimate with her Watcher? _Her_ Watcher.

The Slayer clenched her teeth, feeling a sudden urge to move away from Anita, feeling the air between them turn sour. She should not be here. She should be at home making tea for Giles or reading his books and drinking his whisky. Anywhere but here. Buffy frowned. When the firefight started it was Slayer and Watcher - not Slayer and Watcher and Attachment. But the way he looked at this woman... Jenny Calender had not been so lucky.

Yet Giles was not stupid. He would not have allowed anyone to come on this mission that was not capable - regardless of how he felt about them. Buffy knew better than to doubt her Watcher's decisions. He had proven over and over that he was capable of the most hard-nosed, most brutally practical choices she had ever seen anyone make. Still...

At least Olivia had had the sense to butt out of the business end of Giles' life.

Buffy looked away from the woman. She had just better not get in the way.

Beyond Anita, pencil poised and motionless above a scuffed journal, Edward Frost stood shivering in the cold air. Him she found less than comforting. Maybe it was the fact that he was no taller than Oz but with none of Oz's presence, maybe it was the stutter or maybe it was the tweed, but Buffy wished he would just disappear. They should have paid a visit to Willow and Tara and had him 'poofed' back to merry old England. Then again, that would have meant explaining why the Wicca were not invited on this picnic.

Ethan had not offered to help Giles break down the door. He was standing a little back from Edward, arms folded across his chest. His silver necklace glittered like a string of cats' eyes in the moonlight. Ethan. Why did it have to be him? He was going to need watching for a whole load of different reasons than the proto-Councillor. She looked up at his face and found him staring at her. There was a cold gleam in his eye that was distinctly unfriendly. Maybe Willow and Tara could just 'poof' him right out of this dimension?

CRACK!

Giles was through. The axe head was buried up to the handle and Buffy watched him twist it and pull, dragging at the last bits of wood so that they bulged outward before cracking and giving. Buffy was sure she could feel her tendons straining in sympathy with the ancient timber. She felt tight enough for something to pop. Then the doorway was clear.

For the longest moment she did not move, holding her breath, but there were no spouts of rancid, evil fumes, no gouting arterial fountains of goo. Nothing emerged all fangy and feral and hungry for human flesh. No rush of hell burst free to consume her in hatred and rage and leave nothing but a raw desire to hunt the Undead - one of them in particular. She exhaled heavily. It was a welcome anticlimax.

Padding closer to her Watcher, Buffy peered into the black hole doorway. It smelled a little musty and deady - she was used to that though. It was all so oddly normal. She looked up to see Giles' face, damp with sweat, crumple up in that way it did when one of his books proved not to be as useful as he had thought it would be.

"Well, that was -" he started, but then something _was_ coming out of the darkness.

A voice.

A very familiar voice.

" _BUFFY!_ " Though the words were faint, they were intense with terror, and there could be no mistaking their source. They scalded the Slayer's skin with ice and the heat of her blood bled out in to the night. " _BUFFY!_ "

"DAWN!" Buffy's scream was a reflex. Fear forgotten, she charged straight for the ruined doorway.

"Buffy - NO!" Giles' cry was like a distant echo in her ear, a meaningless noise.

 _Dawn._

Dawn - down in the Hellmouth.

Dawn - in trouble.

The thick putrid air within the tomb pushed against her entry; a fetid, rotting bubble. It offended all five senses, and the gifts of her Calling bristled like a threatened cat, but she ignored it all and forced her way through without hesitation. Nothing could be allowed to stand in her way. Nothing.

"Dawn! Hang on, I'm coming!"

And she was gone. Swallowed whole by the tomb.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

 _... If you are going through hell, keep going..._

 _Winston Churchill._

Edward Frost was a firm believer in the Slayer. Not just the physicality, but also the concept itself. The single girl chosen by fate to carry the sword for her generation. To lead the charge not only literally, but spiritually, figuratively and mythologically. To be the figurehead. A Boadicea, a Joan of Arc, for every age.

If their war had been an open one there would have been a grand statue on every street corner, a celebration of every Slayer. Everyone would know their names. Great legends would be written. Books, songs, movies... But in a combat zone where battles were fought far far away in the long cold filthy dark, in nameless corrupt places and against foes long since made mockery by _The Enlightenment_ there were no statues. There were no monuments. No names.

The greatest heroes of all time doomed to a silent life and a lonely death. Discarded and forgotten. Repeatedly. Each and every generation. Just thinking about it gave Edward a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach: there was a terrible horror in it and no mistake.

He was determined to be different though. Since he could recall he had been consumed by that idea. _He_ would be a witness. _He_ would remember. And so he had read the Watcher's diaries. _All_ of them. Repeatedly. When his contemporaries had been reading comics, when they had progressed to James Bond and even when they finally dropped the written word in favour of pictorial articles in stolen magazines, Edward had stayed true. Endless hours spent reading and rereading each diary. Hiding in backrooms, closets, under the house, up trees, in wooded groves and in the dark shades of numerous gloomy graveyards, to avoid disturbance, and searching. Always searching. Dissecting and probing each page, each paragraph, each phrase, each nuance for clues to his holy grail: the One Slayer. The first. The one from whom all others inherited their gifts. And the most forgotten of them all.

She was in there. If only he could force his eyes to see her.

And he would. One day all the pieces would fit and he would see her. One day. He would. It was his homage. It was his gift, and though pitifully inadequate, it was the only one he could give.

Though they were not available to those outside of the High Council Edward had _obtained_ Rupert Giles' diaries as well. All five years worth. And he had been intrigued by what he had read. Many diaries were dull affairs, report card analysis and mission reports, and it took hours and hours to glean anything useful from any part of them. This one was different though because Giles was different. And so was his Slayer.

Or maybe he thought that way just because these were the only Slayer/Watcher pair he had ever met face to face?

Or maybe it was being forced to stand in the Watcher's lounge room for many, many very long minutes waiting for, wishing desperately for, the furniture to stop bumping about upstairs, whilst a strange man with cold calculating eyes pinned him to the spot, daring him to do more than blush about it?

Then again, it was likely the moment that the Sunnydale Slayer had padded into the house and he had found himself struck dumb with awe. There was no fanfare, no announcement, and no preamble. She was just - just _there_. Right in front of him. _The Slayer. The Chosen One._ Standing not two feet from him, casually redoing her long blond hair into a single braid and tucking it into her black jacket. Leaning her hip now against the back of the Watcher's couch. He stared. Here was his imagination made flesh, but all those hours dissecting and scrutinizing Giles' diaries, constructing a picture in his mind, had not prepared him in the least little bit for the reality. Words were failing him...

And she was right there!

Right there. Radiating energy and vitality. Smelling faintly of rosewood and sweat - and not two feet from _him_. Edward Frost could not breathe. He could not move.

She was exquisite.

His chest ached, deep and tight and penetrating.

 _Oh my god, she was incredible._

And the world narrowed, a thin darkening tunnel with the golden haired Slayer glowing like the sun at its heart. A point of light in the dim mortal banality of the world.

The pain in his heart, spreading beyond his chest now, was intense.

 _She was so -_

"Breathe you twit!" A sharp male voice struck his ears just as a hand slapped the back of his head. He lurched forward with a sharp exhalation and the vice around his chest disappeared. He recovered himself quickly, but the embarrassment burned his fair skin an unfairly vivid crimson.

 _"What's with Tweedle dweeb over there?"_ The Slayer's voice floated behind her as a new man, that could have been none other than her Watcher, steered her out of the front door. _Oh Lord, you unbelievable prat!_ He berated himself until even the tips of his ears felt like they might combust. _You stupid, stupid idiot_. If a wish-demon had suddenly materialized right then he would have immediately requested a deep dark bottomless pit to open up at his feet.

Now, hours later, he found himself short of breath again. Staring again too, but this time at the ominous blackened doorway where the Slayer had plunged through into... What? Hell? Calling for someone named Dawn. Screaming for them with such fear and anger and urgency that Edward felt faint. Something that could make a Slayer tremble was not something to be taken lightly. His journal twisted in his hands.

"Buffy - NO!" Giles lunged after her, fingers clawing uselessly at empty air. "BUFFY!"

 _Oh my god._ She was gone. What was she _doing_?

"Hold on pal. Stop!" It was the man with the cold eyes. Ethan Rayne. He suddenly lunged past Edward and grabbed at the Watcher's shoulder preventing the loss of another member of the team.

"Let me go Ethan."

"Don't be stupid Ripper." Ethan barked in to Giles' ear. Without hesitation the Watcher reached up and grabbed, as he swivelled, finding the pressure points in the wrist holding him. Squeezing.

"Fuck, you bloody idiot - !" Ethan cried out, releasing him.

"I said _let me go_!"

"To do what Ripper? Rush in where bigger fools than you have gotten themselves killed? Great plan. You'll be so much more use to your precious Slayer as a corpse." The Englishman gingerly shook his wrist. "And I am going to be so much more use like this!" He brandished his paralysed fingers. " _Thank you so bleeding much_."

"What the hell do you suggest we do then? Hold a bloody committee meeting?" Giles roared. "You stay away from me you fucking-"

"Stop this!" It was the woman, Anita. Edward liked her. She had kind eyes. "Stop this both of you. Is this how its going to be? You two fighting like a pair of imbeciles until we all get killed?" She was not quite yelling, but the tone was as cutting as if she had screamed in their faces. And it got the desired result. Both men withdrew, still eyeing each other angrily, to their corners. What was the Council thinking, sending Ethan Rayne on this mission? Edward wondered.

"This is going to stop right now: it's already old and we haven't even started yet!" Anita went on.

"Fine." The Watcher said after a beat. "Ethan-?"

"Sure, we can kill each other later. What's a few hours between old friends after all?"

Edward noted the reflexive clench of the Watcher's jaw and was immediately consumed with curiosity. What was the history between these two that insult and injury were instinctive and reactive? He started scribbling in his notebook, shaking hands making his notes scrawl across the page. Questions, questions, questions. Why was it that all his research and observations ever produced was more questions?

"... Frost!" The Watcher's voice sliced the air and Edward jumped, dropping his pencil. "Move it!" Giles, cool and calm once again, was one step from plunging into the tomb. His axe was poised in one hand and his torch in the other. One step behind him Ethan was brandishing a beautifully crafted sword, and Anita a crossbow, already primed and ready to fire.

"My pencil-" Edward started and shut his mouth. Pencil - not important. Important: he was going to be left behind. Alone in the dark cemetery. "Right!" He managed to fall into step just as Giles flicked on the torch and plunged into the blackness. A moment later Edward was gone too.

 _Into the valley of death..._

Buffy hit the tomb floor running and was promptly knocked on her ass, her sword wrenched painfully from her hand. The vault was not as silent or as dead as she had thought. It was alive, insanely alive. A roaring gale was trapped in there with her and it threw her to the ground like she was no more than a gnat. Chaotic, directionless winds whipped her hair and clothing. Grit and sand whirled and lashed at her. Instinctively, Buffy threw up an arm to shield her eyes. Gusts of foul smelling dust blew and snatched across her skin. Where it hit it stung like a zillion ant bites, and for a moment it was all she could do to hold her own, so she stayed down protecting her eyes and trying to orient herself. She fumbled with her coat, trying to find the zipper to get at her flashlight, but found only Mr Pointy. She pulled the stake free.

And somewhere in here was Dawn...

"DAWN!" She screamed, but the gale ripped the word from her lips, crushing it. There was no way her sister could have heard her. Buffy pushed upward onto her knees. A stray blast of air thumped into her back and she nearly toppled to the floor.

" _Slayer_." A rich, dark growl right in her ear. An ominous rasp. What the hell? She spun around, rising to a crouch, bracing her feet wide apart. Mr Pointy stabbed into the thrashing, roping wind. There was nothing there. " _Been waiting for this, oh yeah_."

"Spike?" She called out, wincing and raising a hand to her eyes as airborne grit peppered her face. "SPIKE!"

" _BUFFY_!"

"DAWN! WHERE AREYOU? I CAN'T SEE YOU! TELL ME WHERE YOU ARE!"

A growl.

Footsteps. Feet slapping hard against the stone floor, impossibly distinct above the gale. Someone, something, was coming up fast. She squinted desperately. Nothing revealed itself. Then a voice -

" _Oh my god, what have you done?_ "

"Giles?" Buffy called out. Then the running thing was upon her and she couldn't see a damned thing. She spun 360. Nothing. And the footsteps ran on. And were gone.

"... _Sanguisa_..."

She whirled around again and staggered. Mr Pointy lashed out at nothing.

"... _Please don't die_..."

"GILES!"

Someone screamed.

"... _Don't die, not like this... Not like this_..."

A slow, lazy laugh to her right. No, her left. Behind? Front? No, her right-

"... _Slayer_..."

"SPIKE!"

"... _Inflammate e moritificus_..."

Flesh struck flesh - somewhere...

Then it was all happening at once. A disconnected melee of distress and violence. Coming from everywhere, from nowhere. And all aimed at her.

Metal hits stone. A voice cries out. Footsteps pelt past, racing into nothingness. Dawn. Spike. The wind pushing and pulling at her with increasing violence. Growling. The roar of the gale. Giles. Laughter, cruel and sharp. Faster and faster.

"... _Rupert_..."

"ANITA!" The Slayer whirled around again. Nothing. What the hell? Terror welled up inside and she slashed wildly at the wind. Laughter. "STOP IT!" She screamed.

"... _Oh god_..."

"... _I didn't mean it, I didn't mean it, Ididn'tmeanit, didn'tmeanit, didn'tmeanit_..."

" _Been waiting for this, oh yeah_."

Feet on stone.

"STOP IT! STOP!" The Slayer felt her cry become a shriek in her throat. "DAWN - WHERE ARE YOU?"

The hard clip of metal on stone.

"... _Odisse_..."

"... _Come on Ripper..._ "

"... _Been waiting for this-_ "

Footsteps. Gaining.

"NO!" Buffy ran, straight ahead with no idea where she was going or what she might run into. It didn't matter, she had to break free. The voices, the sounds, followed. She ran faster.

"What the hell is your elder and crankier doing down this end of the cemetery?" Spike paused in the grassy walkway between two rows of crumbling vaults. He looked around with a suspicious squint. "There's nothing here worth the effort."

"Are you sure this is where she went?" Dawn stepped up beside the vampire and curled small fingers around his coat sleeve. She shivered. "I don't like it down here - its freaky."

"Its a _graveyard_ 'bit - its supposed to be freaky! This is where the _freaks_ live. And yes, I am aware that that came out wrong..." Then he looked down at her, at her hand, and frowned slightly. She did not let go of the duster sleeve. No way in hell was she going to get left behind if he took off. He looked back down the corridor and spoke again - "yeah, this is where the trail ends alright."

Dawn looked around. What _was_ Buffy doing down here? The wide walkway that rolled out in front of them was filmed in strange sickly grey shadows. And it was silent. No traffic buzz, no wind, no animal sounds. Nothing. She didn't like it. It was just creepy. Either side of them the stone tombs were jammed together like badly spaced teeth, each one in turn ashen and shrouded with darkness. On the ones closest she could just make out lichen and decay peppering the stonework. Even that looked pale and bleached. Spooky...

Then it struck her: it looked dead. That was what was wrong with it all - everything looked like a corpse. From the moon washed grass, to the tombs, to the silent air, it was all dead. Spike was positively pulsing with life by comparison. A ripple of cold dread ran down her spine. She let go of Spike's sleeve to grab his entire forearm and hug it to her. Dawn suddenly wished she were home in bed still cluelessly fuming over Buffy.

"Come on." Spike suddenly said as he started walking again, pulling her along with him. She pursed her lips: like she would go anywhere else! "Might as well look around."

"Spike-"

"Shhh, I'm concentrating."

"There's nothing down here to concentrate on! Let's go back. I can finish that mural in your crypt and -"

SNAP!

Dawn froze, so did Spike. In the silence the tiny noise was like a gunshot. Neither one of them moved. Something was there. In the dark. Right next to them. Behind them. Oh god... _MOM_ -

"It's a pencil."

"ARGH!" Dawn nearly jumped out of her skin. "Don't do that! And what do you mean _it's a pencil_?"

"A pencil." The vampire repeated, stooping to pick up the small broken instrument from under his boot. He sniffed it. Then stared at it, vamping out for a second. "I've sensed this bloke before: he was with your sister. Told you this was the right place now didn't I?" He looked at her, lips pursed with an unspoken - _HAH_! "Now where has she buggered off to I wonder?"

The tomb was so quiet, so wrapped in dull cold insulating stone, that it made Anita's ears buzz. That was her first thought as she followed Rupert inside. The second was that it was pitch black. No gradation from starlight to dark in here. It was as if the meagre celestial glow was blocked from entering, or was being consumed the instant of its penetration. Neither were particularly comforting thoughts.

Her third thought was not positive either, but this one was framed in a question: what was Rupert _doing_? One moment he was striding purposefully into the dark, the next he was on his knees, the hand that still clutched the torch held up to shield his face.

"BUFFY!" He yelled. Loud and harsh. Then he was trying to stand. And she did mean _trying_.

"Rupert!" Instinctively Anita lunged forward, but a hard, strong hand grabbed her bicep and she was kept back. She watched her lover fall back to his haunches.

"Hold on love." Ethan's smooth calm voice slid into her ear. "Wouldn't get to close if I were you." Then he was moving past her, careful and quiet, to circle the crouching man. In the wavering torch light their bodies were half made: shadowed and distorted. Ethan's sword glinted softly. Anita raised her crossbow and tried to penetrate the darkness, to see Rupert's attacker, but there was nothing there. "Well, isn't this odd?" She saw Ethan crouch down. "RIPPER!" The sound of a finger-snap.

"BUFFY! WHERE ARE YOU?" Rupert called blindly into the darkness. The raw sound twisted in her stomach. It was a tenor she had hoped never to live to hear again.

"Wh - what's happening?" A small voice at her elbow. Edward.

"Something unhealthy I'd wager." Ethan answered, not rising from his crouch. Anita moved quickly around them both. Rupert's face was in shadow, but she could see the faint glow of the whites of his eyes. Wild eyes. Unfocussed. Unseeing.

"Spike?" He asked. Then he was surging to his feet. The torchlight whipped around in a frenzy. "SPIKE!"

"Lookout!" Anita grabbed a fistful of Ethan's coat and pulled. Just in time. Rupert's axe blade slashed the air barely a breath from them. It was a wide, wild swing searching for a target. Ethan fell backwards into her legs and they both tumbled onto the stone floor. Rupert surged forward. They scuttled backwards. The axe scythed the air again.

"RIPPER!" Ethan's voice was shrill in the dead silence. "Bloody hell man - stop. STOP!"

"BUFFY!" Rupert called, turning away from them. The axe bit the air again and she saw Edward, briefly illuminated by the slashing torch beam, scramble away from the weapon. Then it struck her: he wasn't blind. He was just seeing something else. She dropped her weapon. He _was_ somewhere else. And he was lost.

 _I am blind that cannot see..._

"ANITA! WHERE AREYOU?" He called out into the dark again.

 _I am deaf that cannot hear..._

"Anita what are you doing?" Ethan called as she lunged forward. Rupert was still facing away from her, making slow determined, effortful steps deeper into the gloom. She reached out and grabbed his shoulder.

 _Make me a window to my soul..._

And the world shifted.

In place of silence there was the penetrating howl of a gale. Instead of stillness there was frenzy. Wild tumbling whirls of air thrashed her clothing and froze her skin. Dust and grit blew into her eyes, her nose and mouth. And the smell: dead, rotted, putrid and wrong. There was a flavour to it... Oh no.

"... _Sanguisa_..."

A voice. Familiar and yet not. A whisper as loud as a scream. Coming from nowhere.

"Rupert." Anita pulled at the shoulder under her hand. It did not give, even a fraction. He was iron. "Rupert it's me."

"BUFFY!"

"Rupert its Annie."

"BUFFY - WHERE ARE YOU?"

" _Been waiting for this, oh yeah_."

Footsteps on stone.

". _.. Please don't die.._."

"RUPERT! WAKE UP! PLEASE, YOU MUST WAKE UP! THIS IS NOT REAL. LISTEN TO ME RU!" Anita called again, hearing the desperation in her own voice. The wind blew in a sudden hard thrust that nearly knocked her from her feet. Her fingers started to slip. Then the shoulder under her hand flexed, muscle and bone shifting to accommodate the axe. A hard jab, straight out from his body, into the howling wind. And that did it. She lost her grip and was swept away to -

The tomb floor, the cool, calm darkness and the harsh wheeze of her own panting. Her head felt dangerously light and sparkles lit the darkness.

"What the bloody hell are you doing woman?" She heard Ethan's voice above her, and then his hands were on her arms, helping her up. She felt his fear, his anger, his hunger for greatness, and the stubborn, tightly held love that was always there in his touch. So much like Rupert and yet so different... Once she was standing he spoke again. "What did you see?"

"The Hellmouth. Its reaching out to him and he can't break free of it. He can't even see what's happening. He doesn't know that it's all illusion." She clutched at Ethan's forearms, feeling the wiry muscles. Feeling his resistance. "You'll have to use the protection magicks, now."

"Anita, its too soon-"

"BUFFY I CAN'T SEE YOU! ANITA! ETHAN!" Rupert was still in the tomb but they could no longer see him.

"Ethan, I can't help him. I can't even get through to him. You know what that means."

No reply. "Ethan-"

"You're sure you can't get to him. You're sure."

"I'm sure."

"What about a disruption spell? Maybe I can break through the illusion. I really don't want to use the protection magicks yet."

"Try it." She pushed his hands from her arms and back into his chest. "Do it. And hurry."

She could not see him, but strange almost-words purred into the air between them. They filled the space with curious vibrations that tickled her senses. It was sorely tempting to reach out and touch her old friend, to see what he was seeing, to experience it for herself, but she did not. Now was not the time indulge curiosities. Instead she held her breath and waited, heart tripping in her chest.

"What the hell?" From across the room: Rupert. From right by her Ethan's chant peetered out in a strained whisper. She did not need to make contact to hear the toll the incantation had taken.

"Rupert?" She called and was rewarded with the slicing yellow beam of his torch as it arced toward them. "Oh thank the 'Powers."

"Don't mention it." Ethan's breathlessly flip reply came from the dark in front of her.

"Anita? Is that you? What's happening?" The Watcher was approaching them rapidly now. The beam grew and grew until they were squinting in the glare. Anita raised her hand to shield her eyes. "Anita?"

"Ru, put that torch down. It's the Hellmouth: it was reaching out to you again. Didn't you hear me calling you? Didn't you feel my hand on your shoulder?"

"... No. Hell! I couldn't find you. I thought you had all been swept away."

"No, just you old man. Lucky yours truly was around hmm." Ethan said: cocky and out to get a rise out of the world once again. Rupert did not take the bait. "Well, at least we know what became of poor old Tilea - for all the good it does." Ethan went on.

"You've blocked the signal?" The Watcher said. "Disruption spell?"

"Yes."

"How long will it last?"

"Don't know. Maybe a few minutes, maybe a few hours." There was a sigh in the dark. "This place is not right: not for evil, not even for chaos. Its not following the rules at all and I can't tell how long I've wedged the door shut. Shit, the door is not even clear. I can see it but I can't feel it."

"I can't even see it." The anger, the frustrated distress in Rupert's voice was naked in the dark. "I can't bloody _see anything_. Everything is in shadow." His voice tapered off, "I'm blind." Anita reached out, but he pulled away. "Damn it. Where's Buffy? Did you see her?" The torch beam waved over the tomb, illuminating an empty room and the faint dirty brown suggestion of brickwork on the far wall. There was nothing else there. No sign of the Slayer. She was gone.

Again.

Rupert's torch slid over a gap in the far wall and it sucked dead the yellow torch light as it passed by. Doorway. There was nowhere else she could have gone. A distressed shudder rippled through her lover as if he suddenly felt the cold air as it wafted across his sweating face and found the gaps in his clothing to stroke his skin with icy fingers. She shivered herself. Then he was speaking again, with a voice like broken glass.

"We have to find her."

William did _not_ like the dark, which was ironic in the extreme considering that the circumstances of his life had been as miserably dank and morbid as a shroud. All his years wrapped in the black cloth of mourning as countless friends and relatives gave up the spark to various fevers and chills, to misadventures of every pitiful sort, and the ever present consumption that rode about the dim foggy streets of old London town like the horsemen of the apocalypse. And always, always the mystifying black melancholy that accompanied him everywhere. The black stain on his precious fucking soul. An eternal bitter pill that rose up in his gorge at will until he was puking great geysers of inexplicable sadness and anger. Thoughts at once of murder and suicide both. An agony of contradiction that drove him deep into the darkness of the London night as it drove him deep into his own blackness.

Hours and hours in the dark, trying to hide from the gibbering thing that fed on his soul. Hours and hours at once seething and crying, screaming inside. Hours and hours of dying and dying and hating himself and the world and everyone in it. Chewing bitter bile. Inexplicable and ill deserved thoughts of murder consuming his mind in fire and rage. Dear mamma, dear papa in his bank clerk's uniform, and even dear sister.

A fantasy of pistols in the night.

Rage unleashed from its black mourning suit to paint everything in pain. Scarlet suffering. Hating and hating until it turned inward and murderous thoughts became terrible guilt. Terrible, terrible guilt and horror. Then tears. Fucking tears if you will.

So easy to fall under the cartwheel on these streets. Stumble out of the dark fog, blinded by his own, and slip. _Oh horror_. What a poor dear, crushed under the horses hooves. Smashed into the sewage stained cobblestones. Terrible. Terrible.

Suicide is a sin.

 _Suicide is a sin young man, shame on you for being so selfish. Be off with you and no more of that talk. Oh your poor mother. If only she knew the black thoughts of her only son. Only son mind you. Her only insurance against these hard times, what with dear father being so poorly. See him cough and cough until the scarlet comes. Not long for him now, until he ascends to his reward. Pious man like that. If only he knew the undeserving heart that beat in his own son's chest. His only son, mind you. His only hope._

And writing on the walls. The walls of old London town filled with pitiful chalk scrawls. Poetry. An outpouring of poorly crafted pain. On and on until the white powder is red and the dawn is come. At last. And with it the lifting of the veil over his heart.

Inexplicable.

Darkness melting like ice in the summer sun, leaving him drained and sleeping for days. Then everything is alright again. Alright. Poetry in his book now, in neat black ink. Love and passion; beauty and truth. The hand of hope guiding the pen. Anything is possible and it's all going to be alright. Better than alright in fact. _Dear Cecily, my love ..._

For the moment the long cold dark would be just a memory to haunt him.

And William so hated the dark. Frightened of it he was: like he was frightened of everything. Stopping and starting at every hint of shadow, be it the natural turn of day or the turn of the human condition. _The_ human _condition, hah!_ Oh, how little he had known about the _human_ condition. How very, very little.

It was becoming impossible to put himself back there anymore. Being Turned had changed his memories to grey - well, grey-er than they already were. Sodding mortality... Yeah, remembering was one thing, but to re-experience the flavour was quite another. Why had he been afraid to fight back? Why had he retreated into a futile almost-existence, populated largely by his own imaginings? Why had he not embraced the darkness and kicked some bloody arse? He no longer knew the answers to those questions. If he ever had done...

Stupid William. Stupid, foolish boy.

The dark was not the problem; it was just the thing the doctor ordered. It was the playground: the romping rollicking field that concealed only possibility and freedom. Emancipation from everything that dragged at him, that bound his world in tightly held grief. The dark was passion unleashed. It was liberty of the most intimate kind. He had had to die to learn that. His princess saving him from a tiny and invisible life, skulking about in the shadows.

 _Ooh my precious boy, my dark prince; ooh the world is all fiery bright in your eyes now isn't it? Let Mummy see. Ooh. It dances like little fairies. Nasty little pixies in your eyes. My darling, naughty boy. She's all yours she is. All hot and tasty. Can you see? Mummy brought her to you special. Naughty little witch she is, our Cecily. Won't say no to our William now. Won't say nasty things. Go on. Ooh I can smell her fear. Like honey and spice and all for Mummy's darling. She remembers your name now, my precious boy, and she is yours if you want her..._

"There ain't a thing to be bothered about Little Bit." Spike said as he looked about for the trail he now knew was there. "Not a thing. Just you stick by me and you'll see." Dawn did not reply nor did she let go of his arm, but that was all right, he was here for her. He would look out for her, guide her and teach her, proper-like. Like he himself had been, only better. He would. It would just take a little longer than Dru's method that was all - there were no chips back in the day, in Dru's daft pretty head. He would have to be more inventive, more patient, than his lovely Sire, but he was nothing if not patient with his girl already wasn't he? Indulgent. All tolerance-having and ever so gentlemanly.

And big sis? Well, maybe he wasn't so tolerant with her, but then she always got under his skin. She knew just what to say and just what to do to get him mad. Months of him fuming, arguing and seething, bound up in his black leather and invisible choke chain unable to stop or counter her. And inexplicably unable to leave her side. It wasn't right for a Lord of the Underworld to behave this way. Why didn't he just walk away?

But now thoughts of desertion were not an option. He had seen her soft underbelly and he was ready to give her what for. No biting though. There was no chance of ripping and tearing like in days of yore, but that didn't really matter anymore did it (oh bloody hell, on some deep level it sodding did, didn't it)? He wasn't a stupid creature and he had lived by his wits for all his long Undead life, surviving more adept and crafty foes than the Sunnydale Slayer. Defeating them too. There was more than one way to skin your Prey.

Oh yeah, she was going to get hers alright.

Everything always got so very lucid in the dark...

And there it was: the trail. Clear to his yellow eye, to his gifted senses. It was also very short. Within a handful of feet it disappeared into a ruined tomb doorway. Well, the Nibblet had been right - this was not the usual patrol at all. He inhaled hard. Yep, there they were: the Slayer, the Watcher, the pencil carrier, the strange ( _strange_ ) woman and the familiar man. He could not place the scent but that new bloke had been here before. In this very graveyard too. Spike frowned, thinking.

"I don't want to go in there." Dawn's small voice suddenly came from down by his side. He could smell her fear, and his demon grinned somewhere deep inside. No more Bonny and Clyde tonight, just Mamma's little baby. He looked down and saw the wide round eyes staring at the open tomb. Dammit, he didn't have the time to take her somewhere safe. "Spike, let's go home. Please."

"Now then Little Bit, don't go all soft on me. You were right: the Slayer and her merry little band have gotten themselves deep into something interesting. Something they don't want you and me to know." He took her hands away from his arm and held both in one of his own. She was so warm... He looked at her. "They never want you and me to know, but we got a right. We've paid the blood price we have and it's our sodding right to know what's going on."

"Yeah sure, but-"

"But nothing baby-girl. And don't you be worried about a bit of dark now, not with the Big Bad by your side. Didn't get my reputation for _leaving_ my princesses in distress now did I?"

"... Princesses?" Her hands gripped down on his with an increase in pressure so slight a mortal would have missed it. He didn't. Nor did he miss the interesting acceleration of her heartbeat: the delicious heating of already burning blood. _Oh I'm going to pay for this._

"Come with me?"

A nod. Tentative, scared, but there.

"Alright then," he drew his hands away from hers and looped an arm around her shoulders, then forehead to forehead and a feral, conspiratorial grin, "let's go."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

 _... I am Jack's smirking revenge..._

 _Fight Club_

Despite all his talk Spike stepped gingerly over the splintered wood piled in the tomb doorway and vamped out to cautiously sniff the air. Her. Right off that spice flooded his nostrils and his lips peeled back. Slayer scent. Nothing more intoxicating, except maybe Slayer blood... None of that here though. Just Slayer sweat and adrenaline and the burning echo of something violent. He inhaled again and grimaced. There was a tinge of magic there, a powerful spell that had singed the air not long ago. There was something else as well: something dark in the undercurrents that caressed his bumps and tickled the tips of his bared fangs. And not in a good way.

And it was fucking _dark_ too. He blinked rapidly but it did no good, he was almost blind and that was disturbing. Resonances of the inside of Willy's industrial fridges tickled ice along his spine and he shivered, and then shrugged his shoulders in irritation. Well, if those fucking spooks were back they would find more than a happy snack this time around. William the Bloody had a score to settle that no amount of fear was going to rob him of again.

Still it was extremely dark...

Spike turned back to the doorway and was relieved to see the bright stars were still where they should be, burning like icy dew in their mantle. He held out a hand and took Dawn's small one to help her over the ruined doorway. She didn't stumble, but skipped lightly across it to land softly by his side. _Had the Summers' blood in there all right_. Nimble and quick just like big sis.

"It's so dark in here." Dawn's voice was dull in the stone room.

"Had noticed that 'Bit." His own voice was not much better. Spike turned from the starlit sky and back into the blackness. "Slayer's not here though. Not anymore."

"Maybe she's gone back outside?"

"Nope." He swept his nearly blind eyes around the room, just making out the faint smudge that was the far wall. "She's in here alright. Just not _here_."

"It stinks." Dawn said. He felt her shiver through his leathers.

"Yeah." He agreed. The sudden image of a rotting corpse heaving and slithering itself around the room popped into his head. Mummies? Zombies? A leper that some fucking sick brother or sister had Turned for a joke? "Like something that should be long dead." He mused out loud. The odour was not the usual dead things stink though. He squinted. "Can't see anything creeping about though. Can't hear anything, either."

"You can see? In here?"

"'Course." He said confidently, only exaggerating a little, after all he could see well enough to swat any beasties that came charging couldn't he. He stepped deeper into the tomb and his living, breathing shadow followed. "Its dark but its not that dark- Wait a minute."

"What is it?"

"A door." Yeah, that was where she, where they, had gone all right. He padded across the floor, his boots a soft whisper against the dusty stone. Dawn clumped along behind him, pressed into his coat.

As he moved, strange air currents swirled around Spike's legs, his arms, his chest, his face. Delicate and sharp, like slivers of glass, they stroked at his skin with unkind intent and left tiny, transient lines of ice in their wakes. Curious. The little eddies flowed over his ears and he listened intently to their whispers, but there was no sense to be made of them. It was just wind, flowing out of the dark doorway ahead, on its way back out into the starlight.

Spike pushed Dawn further behind him as they came to the opening in the far wall, but no sounds emerged from the blackness. Nothing tried to lunge out - it was quiet and still - which only served to raise his hackles. He paused a moment to inhale again. And yes, once more, there they were: the Watcher, pencil man, the oddly familiar fellow and the woman. Strange, strange woman. Her scent, smothered in lavender and roses, was tainted with something he had never smelled before. Its dull stain was an ugly squat bulging thing amidst the flower scent. More curious...

And the Slayer. She was there. She _had been_ there. Her scent flooded his nostrils, his lungs and penetrated into his guts and he felt himself fill up with her glow. What was she up to down here? He would find out. He would get it out of her. And then he would have his way with her. Oh yeah. The memory: lying there in the battle dust, eye to eye, and her all ablaze with her want of him and terrified of that want, was so hot in his mouth he almost had to pant. Revenge was going to be so so sweet.

Oh, he just _had_ to find her.

"Come on." He forced his thickened tongue to form the words and stepped into the gloom. Time to hunt.

Running.

Feet like flint against the tinder dry floor, striking fast and hard.

"... _Odisse_..."

Running.

" _... Slayer.._."

Running.

"Dawn! DAWN!"

 _... Yon. Alexandra. Zina. Asako. Isabel. Nikita. Cassandra. Meiying. Ebba. Aishah. Polly. Pania. Kaiya. Bethany. Babette. Kirsty. Zola. Kalska. Merpati. Katerina. Nikki. Shawna. Peta. Buffy..._

It was a soothing chant. A ritual that always calmed him; that never failed to harden his resolve. Edward's lips moved silently as he scurried through the darkness. Ahead of him, there were the dim forms of his companions walking in a ragged line, one after the other, down the slowly descending corridor.

The corridor, as far as Edward could tell, had been hewn straight out of the earth and the faint scent of soil filled the air. The ceiling was low enough that Giles, the tallest of them all, was forced to hunch his shoulders; and its breadth narrow enough that they could not comfortably walk any other way but single file. It was a frightening confinement - one made all the more so by his allocation to last place.

The strange breezy air smelled cold too, and made the tunnel feel chilly and windswept, but also oddly smothered. He reached out a tentative finger and touched the wall. He let it trail over the surface as he walked and the rough sandpaper texture chafed his skin and vibrated unpleasantly through his flesh. He shivered and pulled his hand back.

When he had requested this assignment, standing stubbornly in Councillor Knightly's plush office and refusing to leave it, he had not really thought about the actuality of the mission. At the time he had been utterly consumed with the _idea_ of it. The very concept of taking his place in the Council journals, of knowing that his name would be inscribed forever in parchment and compact disc, had aborted any projections about what it may actually entail - particularly any less than glorious possibilities. Then, once Councillor Knightly had yielded to his superior brand of intractability and announced him, he had been too fevered in his preparations: reading the mission profile, organizing his equipment and attending last minute physical skills classes.

The latter were usually the bane of his existence. He lacked the superior strength and co-ordination of those whose destiny lay in the direction of Watcher, and he lacked any interest to struggle against this deficiency. He could see no use in a future Council historian and records keeper learning the finer points of rope climbing or wrestling or running aimlessly for miles and miles through snow, gale and burning sun. But not anymore.

"You will be accompanying the Slayer young Frost!" Councillor Bryant's voice was more clipped than usual. The professor of his torment on any normal day, the man had insisted that he personally take Edward through his final days of instruction. He was convinced, no doubt, that nothing short of his own attention could lift his worst student to a satisfactory standard. If that could ever be achieved without resorting to the dark arts...

Though it must have galled him no end that his most inept pupil was going where he himself had never had the privilege to go, Bryant was not overt in displaying his disgust. Despite that fact, Edward was sure the tutor was going to make him pay for his new mission with sweat, for certain, and tears and blood if it became necessary.

"The _Slayer_!" He had continued as he paced feverishly up and down in front of Edward in the Council gymnasium. He had both hands clasped together and held tight at the small of his back. "The Slayer! The epitome of physical endurance and strength. Not to mention her Watcher." He stopped abruptly and faced the younger man. "Rupert Giles was a very capable student young Edward, dedicated and gifted, and I am told, he has only improved with time."

Rupert Giles. Councillor Bryant never stopped talking about the one that _made_ it. Though Edward knew the truth, Bryant's version had grown to the point where most of his current students were beginning to believe that Giles was a male version of the Slayer herself. Edward had not corrected them, enjoying the little buzz that his secret knowledge brought him, though he knew the real story from his _extracurricular_ studies. The records were very clear: whilst Rupert Giles was an above average student in the physical arts he was by no means brilliant. Bryant's own precise, terse assessments recorded time after time that the young Watcher-to-be was sound of movement and quick to master each new lesson, but he was stubborn and difficult. He was polite; he was capable; but he would not follow instruction to Bryant's satisfaction.

Edward thought about that as the Councillor sent him up the rope, again.

"Grip it properly! Put some effort into it!" Bryant bellowed from somewhere far too far below Edward's rope entwined feet. "Do it properly, like I showed you, you buffoon. Do you _want_ to slip? Well, do you?"

"No sir." Edward gasped, struggling to comply. His entire upper body was on fire.

"I should think not! You'll be accompanying the Slayer! And _Rupert Giles_. I will not have their report stating that any student of mine _slipped_!" Now, that was a truly horrifying thought. That his name might be forever inscribed in the records alongside a description of his stumbling and bumbling millstone presence was too terrible to contemplate. Edward redoubled his efforts.

Then he was there!

He made it to the ceiling and exalted being only a nose away from its smooth surface. He grinned tightly at his faint, distorted reflection. Sweat was slick over his hot skin, and his arms seemed to have cramped into place, bent tight against his chest, but he had made it! For the first time in his life he had made it. A short time later as his feet touched down on the matting he could not help the smile that burst across his face.

"Alright." Bryant made a very, very small mark on his file folder and looked blandly at him. "Again."

As he lay in bed that night, listening to his roommate's snoring, aching in every muscle and with both palms burning, Edward finally understood Giles' reportedly poor attitude. His secret knowledge suddenly became more than a private pleasure because he finally understood it: Bryant was an unreasonable, miserable old bastard who was impossible to please. Edward had climbed that bloody rope for hours and hours until Bryant had been absolutely convinced that each and every finger was in its correct position. That Edward had collapsed into a jelly by the end of this pedantic and excessive exercise, quite unable to use any of his limbs, did not rate a blip on the Councilor's radar.

The only remaining part of Giles' record that remained a mystery now was that he had remained polite for all those years. He must have taken lecture after scolding after insult, but he never once forgot his manners. Edward had found himself filled with a new and even greater admiration for the Watcher and he had resolved to make himself a fit companion no matter what. Returning to the gymnasium in the following days he had fiercely tackled every order and every criticism as a personal challenge, pushing himself until he collapsed again and again. And never once was he anything less than perfectly polite.

Now, he was filling with a sick trepidation that he was going to fall disastrously short in his resolution. Already he had proved himself a useless appendage when he had failed to do anything more than save his own skin back in the tomb gallery. He wasn't even able to make a running journal record, having lost his only readily accessible pencil, and the shame of it built into a lump in his throat.

Suddenly there was a mumble up ahead and the torch light, that was illuminating nothing more than tunnel, guttered alarmingly. The little party stopped abruptly and Edward stumbled into Ethan Rayne's back. Rayne turned briefly and Edward could all too easily imagine the withering stare on that shadowed face.

"Dammit!" Giles' voice was harsh, and dulled by the earth. There was a rattling sound and a sharp slap of flesh on plastic. Another slap. It echoed strangely, coming faintly, a beat later, from behind them. Then the light was back and Edward exhaled with relief. They started moving again, faster this time.

"Dawn!" A sudden, faint scream froze the party again. Somewhere close the Slayer was still chasing this Dawn. And still being swept along by the same false visions her Watcher had succumbed to. "Dawn!"

"Did everyone hear that? It wasn't just me?" Giles barked over his shoulder.

"Oh yes." Anita answered.

"Clear as crystal." Ethan.

"GILES!" The Slayer called out again, voice raw with strain.

"Oh thank the - BUFFY!" Giles yelled back and the next thing Edward knew, he was sprinting as fast as he could not to be left behind.

 _... Yon. Alexandra. Zina. Asako. Isabel. Nikita. Cassandra. Meiying. Ebba. Aishah. Polly..._

Dawn had a handful of Spike's coat again, this time the tails, as he hurried them into the darkness of the underground tomb. Ergh. Gross tomb. The blackened tunnels were as stinky as the entrance and just as freaky. It wouldn't be so bad though, she guessed, if she could just see something - anything! She couldn't even see the coat she was holding and the only indication that it was attached to anything was the tugging that went with Spike's determined footsteps. He wasn't even breathing like he usually did, so she didn't even have the comfort of a companion's respiration.

For Spike not to breathe he must be really keyed up. It was very weird. Then again Spike was very weird (in a sexy way of course), because like: dead thing and breathing, not so mixy, and yet Spike did it all the time. He breathed his cigarette smoke, he crooned to himself (when he thought no one was eavesdropping), he sighed and huffed, he panted like a steam engine after a really hard fight and he seemed to spend a huge amount of his time sniffing the air - most times for no reason Dawn could see. The only times she had seen him not breathing was when he was concentrating hard or when he was sleeping, and then she hadn't really cared because, well, Spike slept naked...

...

...

... Yeah, uh well, so awake-not-breathing-Spike meant that he was not all that fun to be around. Spike concentrating was Spike being quiet and totally focussed and oh so dull. For once though, she was kind of hoping for dull.

Spike suddenly surged forward and she almost fell.

She stopped thinking and concentrated on keeping her feet. When Spike had first charged through the tomb doorway and into this tunnel she had been terrified that she would trip or slip on something rubbl-y and be lost forever in the dark. She wasn't entirely sold on the concept that Spike would stop for her. Despite his slip of the tongue earlier, she wasn't totally convinced that being one of Spike's princesses was really a 100% safe place to be. Sure, he had been sweet on Drusilla for over 100 years, but she was, like, a vampire and tough in all the ways that a human wasn't. There was no real guarantee that Spike recalled anything about being human enough to remember that they needed a lot more consideration than someone who was one half demon and one half already dead person. It was lucky for her that the sandy tunnel floor was free from rocks and stuff. Now all she had to do was hold on...

Giles sprinted down the tunnel toward the sounds of his Slayer's distress. Again she called for him and again he surged forward. It was instinctive, reactive. He could do nothing _but_ respond.

"BUFFY WHERE ARE YOU?" No answer. Dammit. The tunnel seemed to go on and on: twisting and turning, but leading him no closer to his charge. It didn't make sense. She sounded closer than this. Was this another twisted characteristic of the Hellmouth? Was it playing them all for fools?

"GILES?" She was closer. Finally. Chest and legs burning the Watcher forced his pace to the limit. "I'M HERE! GILES WHERE ARE YOU?"

"BUFFY, I'M COMING-" And the tunnel hooked abruptly to the right. He tried to correct his trajectory but his feet slid on the sandy floor and he flailed for a moment, torch waving wildly. Contact. He slammed into the wall unable to stop himself. Pain exploded across his right shoulder, ribs and arm. "SHIT!" His body ricocheted and he hit the opposite wall before spinning out of control into a dark open high-vaulted space. He fell and dropped his torch. The flashlight skittered away, light strobing as it spun across the floor.

"GILES!" The Slayer's voice was suddenly right on top of him, then so was she, grabbing onto his prone form so ferociously he was trapped where he was. The sharp point of her stake stabbed into his ribs. And the Hellmouth slid along his skin, spreading out from wherever Buffy was touching him. _God, not again_. He felt the small eddies of cold gritty wind begin to wind themselves through his hair, across his skin, through the gaps in his clothing. "Giles, oh thank god, thank god, thankgodthankgod."

"Buffy, are you alright." He tried to twist around to sit up but it was impossible.

"I can't find Dawn. She's in here but I can't find her."

"Its alright. Dawn isn't down here." He struggled to sit up. The wind tugged at him and strange dislocated whispers tickled along his mind.

"What?" She demanded and Giles twisted his head to follow the voice to its source. Shadows. That was all that was there. For a moment he wondered if this wasn't yet another Hellmouth trick, sending him a false shade in place of his charge. A wraith. A flat collage of shadow that only superficially resembled Buffy. He blinked. Frowned. Then he remembered and felt a surge of distress: this _was_ Buffy. Where he expected to see the rich suggestion of soul and spirit, revealed to him (even in the darkest of places) in jewel-like light and colour, now he saw only the surface. That incantation of Ethan's, or maybe the Hellmouth, had blinded him and it looked like it wasn't going to release his gifted sight anytime soon. He swallowed. Was this how Ethan saw the world? Xander? Dawn? And everyone else who called themselves _normal_? It made the world dim and unreal and alarmingly unreadable. He felt a panicky flutter in his stomach.

The Hellmouth swelled like an ocean wave across his senses.

"Giles?" Buffy asked in a panicky wind-blown voice.

"Its alright Buffy." Giles pushed his own panic down and turned his ear from the illusory. "Dawn isn't here. It's a trick of the Hellmouth. Now, just let me up and we'll see-"

"But I heard her calling me-"

"Buffy - trust me - Dawn is safe and sound at home. Now please, let me up." He surged upward again and Buffy let him, moving off to crouch nearby, one hand twisted into his coat. "Ethan!" He called, and heard the faint scrape of footsteps coming in under the waves of Hellmouth illusion. Buffy's shadowed head swung around blindly, looking for Ethan no doubt. She moved away slightly, but Giles scooped her close again and tried to ignore the touch of Hell that was growing stronger by the second. "Ethan hurry _up_!"

"Giles-"

"It's alright Buffy, just stay quiet for a moment. Everything is going to be alright." I hope. "Bloody hell Ethan-"

And then it _was_ alright. Just like that. Once again it was quiet and still and dark.

Buffy collapsed against his side with an expletive he was sure she should not know. Spike's influence or his own candy fuelled fugue? He squeezed her shoulders reassuringly. No response. He looked down, alarmed, and was again rewarded with only impotent, implacable shadow. He opened his mouth, but was beaten to the punch by a sudden swell of light.

"M- Mr Giles?" It was Frost and the mislaid torch. Giles turned his back to him and got a good look at Buffy for the first time. And again felt his stomach clench at the sight. With no familiar colours to cast her in her true light, to guide him to his best counsel, she was a figure on a TV screen: dim and two dimensional and distant. If he hadn't been holding her shoulders he might have mistaken her for a well-crafted waxwork. He swallowed. If this was a permanent condition he didn't know what he was going to do.

"Buffy? Are you alright? Are you injured?"

"I'm ok." Her voice was small but he could see her rallying - at least he thought so. He stared hard but it didn't improve matters, he was going to have to take her word for it... Then she was looking at him. "What happened?"

"It's the Hellmouth. It was reaching out to you - "

"So Dawn-" She asked again, unwilling to let the matter rest.

"Not here. Its just us." He waited a moment and watched her take that in, and then peer around him, over his shoulder and then all around them. She swallowed. "Ok?" He asked again.

"Ok." She nodded and let him rise, reaching out to steady herself. But as they rose he realised that it was he who was steadying himself against her – helped upright with that alarmingly casual strength; that same strength that was now flowing through those sleek young hands to clasp his forearms in an uncomfortably steely grip. His bruises were taking on new bruises, and that body slam into the wall was suddenly making itself felt anew. He gritted his teeth. Shoulder, arm, ribs. One mass of hurt that he had to call on his training to suppress. "Where is everyone?" Buffy asked.

Oh hell! He'd forgotten them.

"Anita? Ethan?" He called, looking around the dimly lit 'room'. Frost ran the torch obligingly through the darkness.

"We're over here Rupert." Anita. He exhaled, unaware he had been holding his breath. The three of them followed his lover's voice back the way they had come, and from the shadows the torchlight drew out the forms of their missing teammates. Ethan was sprawled bonelessly on his side and Giles recognized the 'recovery position', slightly twisted to keep the airway free. He was quite unconscious. Anita (dim and lost to him without her golden glow) was kneeling by his head, the fingers of one hand threaded through the short spiky hair. "He passed out right after casting." Anita said. Giles pursed his lips, irritated to find himself alarmed by the sight, and squinted impotently at the prone form.

"He's alright." Anita spoke again, looking straight at Giles, straight through him really. "He's just sleeping, believe it or not." She switched her gaze to Buffy. "Are you alright?" Giles caught Buffy's nod out of the corner of his eye, still unable to take his eyes off Ethan. The stupid prat - then he found his gaze straying from the other man to Anita's fingers. Pale smudges tangled within the dark brown of Ethan's hair. He frowned. It was another point of irritation that this was a sight that could still rankle, even after all these years.

"We can't wait for him to sleep it off. We have to keep moving. We have to regroup above ground."

"A moment Rupert. A moment." Anita frowned at him. "He -"

"What was that?" Frost's thin young voice suddenly erupted from behind Giles. The torchlight was yanked away and Giles followed its rotation with an abrupt swivel.

"What was what?" He demanded of the younger man.

"Th- there was a sound. I heard it earlier but I thought it was just an echo. I heard it again though, just now." Frost continued to make his lighthouse swing around the room. Giles followed it, ears straining against the silence. Beside him Buffy was also alert, staring around silently.

Nothing happened.

"Maybe you -" Giles started. Then he heard it. A sound like a single footstep, but not quite. It came from the far wall. The jittery torch beam flashed across the space toward the noise. Nothing. Giles spared a quick glance back at Anita. He motioned to her dim form, palm pushing the air down and back. She nodded and shrank backward to the wall, pulling Ethan's limp body with her. The sliding sound was jarringly loud in the suddenly pregnant silence.

He felt a tug on his sleeve: Buffy. The Slayer pointed to herself and thumbed over her shoulder into the dark. Giles cocked his head. She pointed at him and the young Councilor's turned back, made a 'talk' sign with her free hand and pointed out into the 'room'. Giles nodded and Buffy slipped away.

"You are hearing things Frost." Giles suddenly spoke. Adrenaline gave only a slight tremor to his voice. "This is the Hellmouth after all and we're all a little bit jumpy."

"But sir, you heard-" Frost objected.

"Nothing." Giles stepped closer to the young man. Frost looked up at him, torch drooping in his hand. He made to object again, but stopped himself. Well-trained young pup, Knightly had not been lying about that anyway, but unfortunately that was not what they needed right at this moment. "Don't trouble yourself about it. This is your first time in the field and I know how unnerving that can be. Why, my first time was with a team that had been sent out to clean out a Nest, and believe me when I tell you that -"

The footstep. Again. Followed by a skittering dozen of them. This time from the left and closer. Frost swung the torch before Giles could stop him and they all saw the flash of their target: a slim quick shadow moving with determination, and coming up fast on their left flank. Giles reached for his belt: no axe. When had he dropped that?

Then there was no time to wonder, the intruder was upon them.

Buffy slipped through the dark, hunting. For the time being the wild illusion she had just thrashed her way through was forgotten and she existed only in the moment. Hunting, leaving Giles and the others behind she quickly padded into the dark, eyes wide and missing nothing. She hoped. Giles started talking, his mellow voice a welcome anchor as she waded through the shadowy sea of the room. She tuned out his words, hearing only the timbre.

Then skittering in the dark. Sandy footsteps.

Buffy smiled and closed in.

 _Oh yeah..._

The thing lunged out of the dark so suddenly that Giles almost recoiled. It was man-like in shape and movement, shorter and slimmer than he, but much faster. The Watcher recovered himself in a split second and charged forward to block it from reaching Anita and Ethan. It dodged him. So fast. So incredibly smooth and ... A vampire? Down here?

Giles fell forward and connected with a wall for the second time that night. Behind him the torch light waved crazily, Anita called out a curse, and the thing snarled: a slavering, sneering sound. Frost's thin young voice bit the air with a hex of his own - one Giles recognized from his Council school days.

Then Buffy, a snatch of movement in the gloom, all but flew past him. Giles twisted around to see the thing looming over Anita and the still slumbering Ethan. His lover was up on her haunches, crossbow raised and empty of its loaded arrow, and spitting out curse after curse but she could not hope to hold her attacker for long. Then the Slayer was upon it and wrenching the thing away. She gave it a hard thrust and it tumbled into the darkness. Buffy sprang after it and the gluttonous shadows of the Hellmouth tomb consumed her once again. The sight pinched Giles' stomach so painfully he found himself teetering on his toes, one lunge from blindly and stupidly following his charge in to the invisible melee. His teeth dug into his lower lip and he tasted blood.

Snarling and gibbering came from somewhere out there in the dark.

With a supreme effort the Watcher forced himself to return to reason and gave his attention to where it had to be. He lunged forward and scooped up Ethan's dropped sword, turning to defend the group, and stare vainly after Buffy. He held his new weapon in a steady hand, facing out to the danger. The ancient weapon was perfectly balanced and felt as light as a switchblade in his hand.

He looked across at Frost. The young man's face was pale and shone in the weak torchlight. Speaking of the torch- Giles reached out and snatched it back. He arced its light into the room and tried to find the warring pair. Nothing.

Then suddenly, out in front, to his right, Buffy grunted and the thing squealed. Both sounds were electrifying and his heart surged in his chest. He jerked the torch across to illuminate them but they were gone again. He strained his ears. Nothing. His eyes... Dammit. The essence of the Slay that Buffy had said she sensed within him was too damned weak. Where he needed her superior vision he was denied it and instead had been crippled further by... whom, Ethan or the Hellmouth?

"Buffy!" He called.

"Be *grunt* right - _dammit_ \- back!" She called, voice bright with the battle. A thrill of memory, fighting alongside his Slayer under the star pecked cemetery sky, suddenly erupted with strange intensity into his senses. Side by side, back to back. Waging a righteous battle in amongst the filth. He felt a sneering grin touch his lips: there was nothing like it. Too bad it was only a memory... Adrenaline circled uselessly his veins and a moan of frustration built in his throat. He bounced on his toes and rotated his sword hand, feeling the weight of his weapon. … _I should just go on out there -_

"Bloody hell, what's all the noise?" Ethan's sleepy, irritated voice. Giles did not turn around. Suddenly a wet gurgling growl sounded in the dark, followed by Buffy's voice: " _Come back here! Oh, oh, that was_ designer _you - oh, you are so dead."_

"Oh." Ethan said sourly.

There was a flurry of activity somewhere in front of them and then more silence. Giles tensed. Silence. It lingered in the air, poisoning it. The Watcher strained his senses, but there was only the buzz of undisturbed air. It was an ominous crackle in his ears. He swept the torch through the darkness.

"BUFFY!" He took a purposeful stride out. "Buffy, where-"

"Here." She spoke as she stepped free of the gloom. He scanned what he could see and was relieved that it was nothing more than a scratch over one cheekbone and rumpled clothing.

"Are you alright? What happened?"

In answer she heaved with her right arm and the limp body of the Thing landed within reach of the torch light. Giles almost recoiled. In plain view it was more repellent than he had thought possible. Its pale, sun deprived skin, almost corpse like, was pouched and wrinkled over its frame in a manner that, disgustingly, showed its complete lack of elasticity. Like the skin of a putrefied apple, the flesh underneath rotten and soft, it looked thickened and loosely anchored. The stench was vile and Giles covered his mouth and nose with one hand. Edward made a choking sound to his right.

The arrow Anita had fired was still protruding from its chest. Giles inspected the damage with a critical eye. It had been a good shot - had it been a vampire it would have been dust. He looked closer. The broken skin at the point of impact was bloodless and puckered softly around the shaft. Somehow this was more repugnant than a bloody wound and his lips pulled tight, pressed together.

Its face was a grotesque, human, but twisted with a demon taint that was something other than the vampire he had originally supposed. That being said there was a hint of the Undead in its slimy browned fangs, but there was also something vaguely reminiscent of a Grossos demon in the heavy boned forehead and bony occipital supports, and yet there was the definite influence of one of the night dwelling Kang in the enlarged eyes and faint pigment evident across the nasal flaps. Still... He scanned it from its hideous head to its clawed toes and the pale skinny naked torso in between. There was something-

"Gross!" Buffy said, leaning past her Watcher to poke its limp form with the toe of her boot. She had her torch now and the bright white light made stark the horror of the thing at their feet.

"Well, yes-." He responded on automatic pilot, finding his voice rough as he spoke through the thick putrid fumes emanating from the Thing.

"What is it?" Anita almost whispered, horror, not awe, in her tone.

"I don't know." Giles said. "I've never seen anything quite like it."

"E-excuse me." Frost. The boy's voice was whispery as well. "Ah-pardon me, but I think I m-might be able to..." His voice petered out as if the muscles of his mouth had suddenly rebelled.

"Might be able to what? Faint?" Ethan Rayne's voice, at once mocking and coldly biting, pierced the air. Ethan always had been foul tempered after waking.

"Go on Edward-" Anita prompted. "If you know something then-"

"It's a Muttune't." The boy interrupted in a rush of words. "Not much is known about them, but they are believed to be indigenous to the Hellmouths. They live in the upper tunnels, maybe all the way down too but no one knows for sure-" He paused suddenly and Giles caught the white of an eye roll as Frost scanned the group with all the frozen panic of a child who had inadvertently revealed a sworn secret. A hand made an aborted trip to cover his mouth.

"How do _you_ know then?" Giles couldn't suppress the accusation in his tone. "That information is not held within the Council. Where did you learn it?"

"I- I raditsohmwere?"

"I beg your pardon? Speak clearly Frost, this is not prep school!" Giles snapped. "If you have something to say then say it."

"I read it. Sir."

"What else did you read?" Ethan asked.

"Th- the Muttune't are scavengers. They keep the tunnels free of... of detritus." He swallowed. "They don't seem to be overly intelligent, but they are terrific scent hounds and will track food for miles and miles. Tenacious. Very tough too."

"I see." Ethan's voice splintered through the dark. "Marvellous. Anything else we should very much like not to know?"

"Well, they are generally solitary when they are looking for food, but when they find it they usually call for the others - especially when there is more than enough to go around. They have a very distinct call, it sounds rather-"

A scream suddenly erupted from the area around their feet. It pierced the air and sliced at Giles' eardrums until he was forced to clap both hands to his head and reel away. It reverberated thinly inside and sent shrill waves of pain from his bones to his skin, from his guts to his toenails. He staggered. Then it was gone and the relief was as shattering as the wailing had been excruciating.

"-Like that." Frost finished in a shaky voice.

Thud!

Buffy slammed her torch butt into the creature's cranium. The impact made a crater in the baldhead and silenced its cries. Still, she hit it again. The creature's body jerked. She raised the weapon once more and stopped, paused, and then lowered her arm. Odd. Giles _looked_ at her, and then winced as he was forcibly reminded of his new weakness. Helpless, he looked away, instinctively seeking out his lover, but she was still staring at the Muttune't.

"We have to get out of here." Ethan said, climbing stiffly to his feet. "Holding the Hellmouth at bay is one thing, but this... I can't help you deal with this, all its kin, _and_ keep you and Buffy on this side of the divide. I do have limits you know. We have to get out of here and regroup."

"That's what I said when you were napping." Giles snapped. "Let's go-"

"What was that?" Buffy asked suddenly. She cocked her head. "There it is again."

"I can't hear anything?" Giles responded. "Anita?"

"Nothing." She reached out and touched her fingers to Buffy's arm. The Slayer flinched, caught off guard, but then looked back toward the way they had come. "It's not the Hellmouth. Whatever it is she can hear it is not part of the illusion."

"It's like a whisper." The Slayer's voice was hushed as she stared out in to the unrevealing dark. "Something - I can't hear it properly - like voices maybe?" The group stayed silent. "Do these things speak?" She asked Frost.

"N-no." The boy said. "At least, I don't think so. There was nothing in the-"

"Its not voices." The Slayer suddenly looked alarmed and backed up a step, moving to within arms reach of her Watcher. She never stopped staring into the dark. "It's hissing. Giles, its a snake! A huge freakin' SNAKE!"

"What!" Giles barked. His eyes widened in horror. Something moved suddenly, below him. The Hellmouth creature, again! Its eyes were open, and black and muddy in the shadows. It screamed.

"What the hell?" The Slayer yelled over the noise. "How do you kill these things so that they stay dead?"

"Y-you can't." Frost stuttered, voice as terrified as Giles had heard anyone's. "No one ever discovered a method. Tilea -"

The darting quick movement of the Slayer interrupted him. Giles felt the sudden yank of the sword in his hand and he released it to her. Without hesitation she hacked both the creature's arms and legs free and decapitated it. The head continued to scream without pause. Still moving the Slayer inverted the sword stabbed it into the head so hard the clank of sword striking the hard stone ground made everyone jump. The screaming stopped.

"Finally." Buffy raised the sword, head still attached. She made an exasperated sound and shook the sword. The lower jaw flapped obscenely but the head stayed tight to the blade. She frowned at it and wiggled the blade again. The eyes rolled in the head and the loose flesh jiggled. She did it again so that the jaws flapped open and shut, teeth snapping. This time the action was deliberate. Ethan hissed. Giles frowned, whilst beside him Frost made a desperate inarticulate sound and managed to turn aside before losing the remains of his last in-flight meal.

" _Buffy_." Giles warned, disconcerted.

"Hey, it's _stuck_!" She protested, not entirely convincingly. "Wait a minute and I'll-"

"Just do-" Giles managed before the head started screaming again. The eyes snapping open with a flick that made them all recoil.

"Bloody hell!" Ethan almost shouted. Beside him Anita's eyes were bugging and sweat made her face shine. She had one hand over Ethan's shoulder, fingers digging in. "Make it stop that!"

"How?" Giles demanded, gaze pinned on that shoulder.

"Smash it. Fucking make it into strawberry jam Ripper. Smash it." The magic user's desperation suddenly leached away and his eyes were hard with challenge. "Like you used to know how to do. Like you still do." _Sonavabitch._ Giles made to retort but the head fell silent again and in the hugely loud quiet they all heard it. Hissing. Soft and distant, but gaining by the second. Suddenly a loud thud-clang made them all jump.

"Sorry." Buffy looked sheepish and raised the now headless sword blade. Waved it. Pointed at it. Still sheepish.

From the distance the hissing grew louder. Screams, as thin and remote as smoke on the horizon, now floated in its static. Closer and closer.

"Oh we are so fu-" Ethan.

"They're coming." Buffy confirmed, completely unnecessarily. Her voice was brittle, but the sword was now steady in her hand. "We have to get out of here."

"Agreed." Giles played the torch over the room and spotted several tunnels. There was no choice. "We can't go back the way we came, we'll have to try another way."

There was no argument. Anita scooped up the crossbow and moved past Giles' shoulder. Her perfume came to his nose faintly and he inhaled hard. Its honey smoothness filled his soul, replacing the foul stench of the creature, and he stepped up beside her as she inspected their options just to keep within its warm embrace. Its presence dulled the ache that her lovely golden aura was now denied him.

"So, which way?" She asked.

"Who knows-" Giles replied, then looked suspiciously at Frost who stared back, sweaty and pale. "Well, maybe one of us does-"

"O-oh, no sir." Frost shook his head. "I swear, I don't. There was noth-"

"Oh come on!" Ethan pushed between Giles and Frost as he barged ahead. "What the hell does it matter? If we don't move, by morning we'll be mutty-mut shit."

"Muttune't." Frost corrected mindlessly, and flinched.

"What-the-hell-ever. I'm going-" And, snatching Giles' torch, he did. At a dead run.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

The hissing was growing. Lashing at her ears like sheeting rain. The strange screams it carried within it flashed and drew sharply against her senses. The whole effect was like lightening within a bank of wild wind-borne storm clouds. Coming her way. She holstered her torch and hefted her sword.

Buffy had lingered behind as the group began to follow Ethan's hastily beaten retreat. The cool metal of the sword she held was vibrating slightly in her hands. It was a beautifully balanced weapon, all ready to slice and dice at her command. She wondered if it came in a set? _See how it cuts through this tomato as easily as it cuts through this werewolf neck! A thousand necks and it just keeps on slicing_ … I so need to get out more.

Still it was a pleasure to handle - something that, given a spare moment in the Magic Box training room, she might have stolen from Giles' personal cache and tried out on her wooden training post. Just to check it out of course, expand her weapons experience and stuff. Not just _'cause_ , no, because like, that would be bad and so not worthy of her Slayerness… Hmmm… She wondered if Giles might fall, er, _go_ for that? The thought of herself standing in the debris of the training room hacking stuff up with such a valuable weapon, as Giles' arrived for that day's session popped into her head and she winced. Ok, so not a good plan, but damn this weapon was made for battle and she felt that through and through. From the moment she had wielded it on that Mutt-thing she had tasted its possibilities and ached to try it out.

But against a snake? A giant snake and a pack of screaming meemies? She shivered. Yeah, against that. The idea was a delicious seductive thing that warmed her blood. She could do it. Rip into the whole lot of them like a hurricane through a cornfield. UC Sunnydale's own whirling dervish.

The hissing suddenly surged, the screaming swelling in perfect tandem.

From behind her.

 _Oh crap..._

"BLOODY HELL!" Ethan's bellow boomed out from over her shoulder and she swivelled to see the dark mage sprinting back out of the tunnel he had just entered. The torch light thrashed back and forth with his pumping arms. In its strobing light she saw Giles and Anita reel backwards, out of the line of sight of the shaft entrance. Edward Frost fell over backwards on the opposite side of the opening to Giles. Then _they_ were coming through.

Pouring through.

Maggot pale, soft spindly bodies, creeping and crawling through the narrow opening; spewing though in thick slow streams of writhing limbs and gaping maws. The stink was wretched: rotten and wet. And the noise! Screaming and screeching, inhumanly thin and agonized. And... My god it was them! They were hissing.

They worked their way through into the chamber, climbing over each other until the entry point was three bodies deep.

Buffy charged, sword raised, arcing above her head.

Edward fell backwards, knocked flying by Ethan Rayne's ballistic re-entry into the chamber. He hit the hard stone floor and rolled, coming up in time to see the first pale white arm slither around the corner; a thin arm that would have been bony but for the thick puffy skin that wrapped it - skin that was pocked and bunched around the elbow, wrist and finger joints. Smooth and full in the forearm: ripe and ready to burst. The hand attached to the arm snared the rock wall and pulled and suddenly there was a crowing head. Smooth and pale and foetal. Edward kicked out with his feet, caught the stone floor and pushed himself backward in a blind panic. His empty stomach lurched again.

This was too much. Too much.

 _Yon. Alexandra. Zina. Asako. Isabel..._

More of the Muttune't emerged, many more. They writhed into the room, mouths like gaping black holes loosely stitched between the lips with strings of thick yellowed mucous. They screeched. Howled. Wailed. Hissed. Mindlessly. Hopelessly. Their wet fetid breath snatched Edward's own breath from his lungs and he retched again, despite himself. Nothing came up. Tears ran in thin cool lines down both cheeks.

This was too much. Bryant had been right to favour the trainee Watchers over the others.

Across the rapidly growing flood of hell spawn he watched, appalled and terrified, as Rupert Giles gamely punched a lunging Muttune't in the face, sending the thing flying backwards into its brethren. Anita took out another with a well-placed arrow. Even Ethan Rayne had stopped running and was clubbing the pawing mass at his feet. And the Slayer. The Slayer was magnificent, her sword catching the meagre light as she laid waste to the enemy. Whirling, slashing, leaping and parring. Taking limbs, heads, torsos with each gliding arc of her sword. It was beautiful, elegant and terrible to witness and Edward shrank inside. Bryant had been right, he realised, as he sat there horrified, he was no choice for this mission. He was useless.

Suddenly something tugged at his boot with a hard, purposeful pull. He jerked backwards on pure instinct, wrenching his head around to stare at his foot. A Muttune't had a pale corpse like hand curled softly around it. Its finger's wrapped so gently that if it had not pulled then he would not have known it was there. Until it was too late. Large, black eyes stared blindly up at him, almost innocent in their placid directness. He stared. The thing suddenly hissed: cat like and feral. Edward screamed and kicked. His boot caught the thing in the chin and snapped its head backwards. It let go. He scrambled backwards again.

Anita squeezed the trigger once more and again made the shot count. For all that that mattered. There were so many of the things; so many of the colourless wretched beasts. They crawled around and over each other like limbed pupae, writhing, never pausing. Mindless. Devoid of even the faintest aura, they were a blank slate to her eyes and the sight filled her with cold fear.

She locked, loaded, waited whilst Rupert connected a heavy fist to a demonic face, and then let loose taking out another creature that had crawled too close. No sooner had it recoiled, arrow skewering its forehead, than Rupert once again lunged and struck. His aura flared. Its brilliant ruby glow suddenly, briefly, bursting with a supernova of gold glitter. He was loving this. Loving it on a level she had never been able to share with him - even on the rare instances she managed to land a touch when he was under its thrall. This was the Slay and it was his and his alone. At least that was what she had thought all those years ago (until she learned of the Slayer).

Where Ethan and the rest of their group had taken an earthly delight in stirring up trouble there were limits. She herself had limits. And Rupert? Well, he didn't seem to ever reach his. At least that was what she had believed when she had joined his clique and seen first hand why the others were a bit awed, and a little bit horrified, by their strange comrade. Who was he, this upper class, Oxford-educated, necromantic bovver boy? Where had he come from? Why was he here? And how could he _do_ that, and with his bare hands too?

The truth was, when the others were done, Rupert Giles was only just getting going.

And where Ethan paraded his dark persona like a show dog, Rupert just _was_ that dog. Where Ethan sought out the black arts and the worlds that lay within their depths, Rupert just inhabited them, on the fringes yes, but he was just _there_. No effort required. It was one of the more contentious issues that had flavoured the early relationship between the two men.

 _I think Ethan has a crush on you._

 _Really? Never picked him for an arse bandit. He he._ Arse bandit _. Derrière desperado. Brigand of the Buttock. He. Hey, you're_ glowing _!_

 _Put the pipe down Ru and listen to me. He was almost killed tonight because he followed you into that Nest. You know he can't match you, why do you let him keep on trying?_

 _All glowing like golden fire. Oh look, my hand is on fire too! You set me on fire babe, but that's ok, it feels good when it burns - think I love you Anita Snow._

 _Oh Jesus you are totally fucked. Look, just lie down-_

 _You too._

 _Yes me too. Lie down. Yes, lie - no stay! Stay! *Sigh* What is going on with you Rupert Giles?_

 _... It's my heritage Annie, the glorious fucking Watcher's Calling._

 _It's the what?_

 _I thought I could outrun it. You know, by coming here, the last place they'd look for me. It didn't work. Then I thought I could keep it tight inside where no one could see and I could get married, have a bunch of little Giles' and ... and open a ... a sodding florist shop or some such. Heh. I thought I could just walk away. Stupid I know, but there it is._

 _Rupert what are you talking about? What -_

 _I-I'm not what you think Annie. There are things about me that you don't know, that Ethan, that none of the others know. Things that I can't ever tell if I'm going to be free of it. And I want to be free. I want to be free._

 _You're starting to scare me here love. What are you talking about? Are people, or.. other_ things _after you. Ethan-_

 _Oh, bloody hell: Ethan. Bloody Ethan. He wants what he can never have. Ha! It's ironic really: he wants what he can't ever hope to truly have and I want to be free of the very same thing, and never will. It's all arse over tit, this world. All inside out and round about._

 _You're letting him follow you around to scare him away from the darkness aren't you!_

 _... In a way. Heh, you really do think such kind thoughts of me. ... Ethan does have a gift Annie. He knows he has it and it's fuelling his hunger for the unobtainable rest of it. Maybe one day he will eat his way right to the edge and it won't matter that he doesn't have the natural predilection for the dark arts: he'll be strong enough to do the same amount of damage._

 _So why are you letting him tag along then?_

 _... I don't know._

 _You're lying! You know I can see it-_

 _Let's not talk about this anymore tonight babe._

 _Rupert-_

 _I don't want to discuss it! Shit, the bloody pipe's dead. Where's the fucking matches?_

She never had gotten him to talk about Ethan. Never once in over 25 years. He had told her, eventually, about the Council, the Watcher and his Slayer, and his part in it all, but never once would he talk about Ethan. It was a mystery that she would dearly love to have revealed for her before she-

Shit! She loosed another shot, taking a bold creature in the right eye. It fell away.

Rupert twisted the head off one of the monsters clawing at his legs. It came free with a wrenching bloodless tear and without hesitation he threw it hard into the face of yet another of the creatures. There were so many of them...

"RUPERT!" She screamed above the din. The Watcher did not respond, but thumped another Thing in the face and sent it sprawling. "RUPERT!"

"Annie!" He suddenly snapped around. His eyes were wild with the battle.

"There are too many of them. We have to find a way out."

Suddenly there was a commotion where Ethan was clubbing away at the slobbering mass at his feet. Several Muttune't went flying, catapulted from the Englishman's feet to land at least 20 metres back. They disappeared into the seething mass of their fellow creatures as surely as if they had been dropped into the sea. The things at Anita's feet, and Rupert's, turned abruptly to face the new threat and screamed with renewed, outraged, vigour. Then a deep rumbling snarling joined the screaming, screeching hissing melee and incredibly the Muttune't began to quieten. In no time at all the only sound in the room was the new sonorous thunder. _Big cat in here somewhere?_ As she stood, stunned, every single one of the enemy dropped to the ground in a low crouch, quiet and watchful, as if suddenly awaiting command. Their collective gaze was locked on Ethan.

Or not Ethan...

What was this?

"SPIKE!" The Slayer suddenly screamed across the vast room. Her tone was not one of relief. Anita followed Buffy's line of sight and saw the shadowed form of a slim blond young man standing next to Ethan (the Englishman had made a hasty retreat, but was blocked in by an implacable bank of muttune't, so he stayed on his self made border, aura flaring). The new comer's aura pulsed strangely around him, black like absence. It was not that of a human being. It was too uniform, too dense, too deep and too pure. Human aura's, like their vessels, might be strongly inclined to one colour or sensation, but they were rarely this intensely, permanently, one or the other. Ever. She frowned, and took a new grip on her crossbow.

At the sound of what must have been his name the man looked up and Anita froze. Vampire. She should have known. Damn, she was so out of practise Winnie the Pooh would have been faster, and more astute. She cocked the crossbow at the demon and glanced at the Slayer. Her back was turned but that did not matter, her aura spoke more than adequately. Anita pursed her lips. _This is going to complicate things, one way or another._

Spike looked, or glared, at the Slayer for a split second, before returning his gaze to the supplicants at his feet. Anita might have been mistaken, but she sensed that he was as confused by the Muttune't behaviour as she was. As they all must be from the stunned silence.

"What the _hell_ are you doing here?" Buffy. Spike did not answer right away, but took a cautious step forward - as fluid and silent as the big cat Anita had imagined earlier. The muttune't moved back a step. She saw Spike's lip curl.

"Looks like I'm doing: 'saving the Slayer'." He looked at her. Then he suddenly lunged forward with an abrupt movement. The Muttune't scrambled backwards in a quick scatter, desperate to get out of range, bare feet and claws patting madly at the hard ground. Other than that they resettled around him in a new ring of adoration in complete silence. Eerie silence. Spike's face twisted in a shit-eating grin, showing a brief flash of pearly white fangs.

And showing the small girl that had been hiding behind him.

Tiny thing. Small, brunette and scared out of her wits. She had tried to follow Spike's lunge, but had not been fast enough. For a split second Anita thought she was another vampire, but no, the bright green jewel-like aura suddenly rippled as madly as the muttune't's feet had done.

"DAWN!" Buffy bawled this time and Anita jumped. Rupert's aura flared. This was Dawn! So she _had_ been down here all along... The Slayer suddenly charged toward the new comers, hacking a path through the docile demon spawn like vengeance made flesh. Dismembered pieces of muttune't jumped through the air and bodies crumpled aside like felled trees. Anger, shock, betrayal and hysteria flickered and flared through her aura. Then Rupert charged and Anita was following close behind.

Ethan stayed well back as the Slayer approached in a fury. The sword swept and hacked so fast he was having trouble following its arcing movement. Body parts flew left and right, but the little demons did not move to defend, attack or even plain shift out of the way. Idiots. If he could have moved himself, Ethan would have stepped further back, but the damned mutty-things would not move. They stayed, pressed shoulder to shoulder, in a tight impenetrable wall of unbreathing, unliving, silent flesh and stink, staring at their new master. So he waited, very unhappily.

As for the vampire, Spike, he had taken a single step backwards, to turn his body so that he could face down the Slayer's approach. Spike. So this was Spike. Spike the tame vampire he had seen and overheard last week. The vampire who's mere name, he had discovered, made the local Council records keeper (a petite little thing, flattered by his attentions) frown and purse her pretty lips into a thin pale line.

Spike the killer of Slayers.

Spike the Slayer's ally.

It was an incongruence that would have drawn a curious chuckle (and it had done) under other circumstances. At the moment though, it was an anxiety provoking contradiction. What should he do? Flee now? Try to stake him? Relax and step away from the spine tingling creatures at his back? What? He had heard about the inhibitor chip sure, but Ethan was never one to hold with fancy technology if there was a good spell handy and he smelt none of those on the vampire.

"You!" The Slayer punched her palm into Spike's chest as she breached their clearing. The vampire rocked backwards. "You I'll deal with in a minute, but you -" she turned on the girl cowering by Spike's side. The sword waved threateningly in the air. "I took you home. I told you to stay there. I told you to butt out! This is Slayer business, you-"

"Buffy." Ripper reached the circle, panting wildly from clubbing, shoving and leaping his way through the bodies. Anita was barely a step behind. The Watcher snatched the sword from his charge's hand. "Buffy." Calming now. Reaching out with his free hand to touch her shoulder. The Chosen One pursed her lips until they were white and exhaled through her nose, nostrils flaring.

"I- I'm sorry." The girl, Dawn, suddenly spoke up, voice wavering, but with a thin strain of anger stirring. She shifted foot to foot, and stole furtive glances at the muttune't. "I- I'm sorry, ok, but you wouldn't tell me what you were doing!"

"So you went and found _Spike_? Again? After I took you home and told you to go to bed? After I have told you and told you and told you... VAMPIRE, Dawn! VAMPIRE! What the _hell_ do I have to do to get it through to you? He is a vampire. He kills stupid little girls like you-"

"No, he doesn't. He's my friend. He respects me. He-"

"Thinks you're _food_! If he could, he'd eat you alive. "

"Jealous Slayer?"

"Shut up! You've brought my sister into the _Hellmouth_. The _Hellmouth_ Spike! You are so close to dust right now-"

"Buffy, just calm down for a minute. This isn't the time-." Ripper spoke up. His voice strangely strengthened and calming. The Slayer subsided immediately, although if looks could kill...

"Yeah, you tell her Rupes. Bloody cheek."

"Shut up, Spike, you aren't helping." Ripper barked. The vampire hmphed.

"Fine." He sneered. Then he pointed one black nailed finger at the Watcher. "Fine, but, just you remember who's keeping our peeled puppies here at heel." Everyone looked around, suddenly. Funny how you can forget yourself when there's such entertainment at hand. "Yeah. Fella that's got that kind of touch deserves a little respect. Might just let the little buggers loose-" The Slayer's lunge was thwarted by her Watcher's restraining hand.

"I don't know how you're doing it, Spike," the Watcher said. "And to be honest, at the moment I don't much care. We have to get out of here, so please keep on doing it, but-"

"How much?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Money, Rupert. You know, good old American green back, though I'll take it in old money if you've got it." This time the Slayer stopped the Watcher from making a feint at the Undead creature. Ethan drew in a fed up breath and crooked his fingers, over arching them to create a cage effect. Time to move things along. He had enough in him to do it-

"Hey!" The vampire suddenly turned on Ethan though he could not possibly have seen what he was dong. The yellow eyes were deadly serious. "Keep that mumbo jumbo to yourself. You fuck me up and what's to say it won't be round two with the kiddies?"

"What's to say that while they are eating your dust we can't all get away?" Ethan retorted hotly, but called his own bluff by lowering his hand. Spike grinned - lips peeled back over goodly sized fangs. Then he abruptly lost interest and turned his back.

"Ethan has a point Spike." Ripper said, once again in control.

"Yeah? Wanna try it out for size? I'll just go and leave you to find out then."

"NO!" Everyone spoke at the same time, and Ethan, to his intense chagrin, found himself joining in. A fleeting smile touched Spike's lips. _Smug bastard._

"Fine." The vampire suddenly sniffed, and looked around himself, rolling his shoulders. All business. He stared out at his adoring fans. "Fine, so we'll discuss the fee later then?"

"Spike." Ripper and Buffy together.

"Fine." The vampire said again with a small superior grin. He sniffed again, wiped the back of one hand over his mouth and surveyed the muttune't. Then he shrugged. "It worked before-" He stepped forward. And struck a wall of muttune't. Not one of them moved. Spike frowned, wrinkling his ridged brow. He retreated a step. "Right then." He set his shoulders, backed up further and tried again, this time with a lunge. And again he impacted on the front row.

The hell spawn did not budge.

"Ow, fuck!" Spike recoiled suddenly grabbing his left shin. Blood swelled between his clutching fingers. "Fuck! Little bastard bit me!" The Slayer rolled her eyes. Spike saw it and pursed his lips; chin thrust forward. Then he was jerking himself up straight and tall and blowing through his nose and Ethan recoiled as the tame vampire suddenly swivelled, inhumanly fast and charged, roaring, arms wide. This time he had the sense to pull up before he slammed home.

"So I can take him out now?" Ethan asked mildly. His fingers were itching with the pent up chaos charm.

"Get bent."

"Great." The Slayer said. "Just great." She pulled her torch free, flicked the switch and looked out across the still white sea of bodies that penned them in on all sides, whilst Spike shook out his ridges looking extremely annoyed. Even embarrassed? Anita would know.

Ethan looked across at his old friend and frowned. The aura reader did not look well. She was sweating heavily and had gone quite grey around the gills. Still it had been an exhausting battle he thought, and if he himself was anything to go by the older members of this expedition were feeling a bit knackered (his knees, for one, were never going to recover). He suddenly became aware of the sweat that was sliding down his own face and wiped irritably at it.

And the Watcher? Well, Ripper wasn't looking too bad, but then the bastard was well used to chasing his Slayer about and getting into scrapes on a daily basis. At the moment he was watching the path of his Slayer's torch beam as she played the light over the room. The flashlight lit up a considerable swath of the chamber they were in. It also illuminated the vastness of the pack that surrounded them...

"So what do we do?" Ethan asked, stepping closer to the Watcher. As he moved he passed the vampire. The creature did not move to let him by and did not even acknowledge the reattachment of the young girl to his side, being more intent on their predicament. He was staring out at the room with his own superior vision. Ethan touched Anita's arm as he came to a halt. She did not look back at him, but clamped a hand to his forearm, holding on. Leaning. Ethan frowned, turning a questioning look to the side of her face. If she saw him she did not acknowledge it.

"We could climb over them?" Ripper mused, turning Ethan's attention back to their communal problem.

"Yeah, great!" The vampire snapped, pointing accusingly to his injured leg. "Be my guest."

"We did it before." The Slayer.

"Yeah, you did it before when they were all obedient and respecting of yours truly." Spike retorted. "Probably bite both your pins off before you made it half way-" He suddenly paused, face flushing with something Ethan couldn't decipher. "-Which would actually be a bloody good laugh, so go right ahead. Could do with a chuckle-."

Suddenly a scream slashed the air. Dawn. Ethan pivoted so fast Anita was pushed away from her grip. His heart tripped in his chest. One of the muttune't had suddenly moved. It had shuffled forward, still on all fours, whilst they had been talking, and had wrapped soft hands around the girl's legs. In a flash both Slayer and vampire were moving, but the vampire was closer and so faster. He twisted around and tore the thing's hands free jerking it upward. One quick flip and wrench and he had the thing's head in his hands. The body slumped to the ground. Dawn continued screaming and sobbing. Even when the Slayer had pulled her away from the body and buried the girl's face in her shoulder the noise went on.

"Bloody hell, it's not dead!" Spike had the head raised so he could look in its eyes.

"Okay." The Slayer spoke hard and precise, ignoring the vampire and the now quietening snuffling on her shoulder. "We're going. If we have to fly we're going - now - before the rest of them get over -" her gaze flicked to the vampire, paused - "whatever the hell it is, and get hungry again." Ripper nodded, still looking over the room.

"Alright then, we can try to hack a path through." The Watcher snatched his torch back from Ethan and made a pointer of its light beam, running it from their feet to the tunnel entrance. "If we're fast enough we might make it back into the tunnel before they snap out of their trance." He looked around at the group. "Buffy and Spike will take the lead. Annie, you follow with Dawn. I will protect our backs. Ethan any magic tricks to help us?"

"Sorry, no can do. It's both you and Buffy still sane or it's a path. Can't manage both."

"What's that then?" Spike stared at Ethan, eyes like ice. "The Slayer and Watcher gone mad?" He cast a critical, if not alarmed eye, over the two in question. "I'm not going on any mad dash for freedom through that nasty lot with anything 'barking'. Hard enough managing Dru- "

"Not, 'insane' Spike." Buffy said.

"Just crazy, is that it?" Spike squinted in her face.

"There is something down here Spike." Ripper butted in, looking irritated with the side bar. "It's affecting our judgement, but it is under control now – well Ethan's control. Nothing to be concerned about if we can just get out of here." He suddenly paused. "Actually, that's curious."

"What is?" Spike, still not convinced and leaning back on his heels, trying not to look like he was seeking some distance. "You seeing things?"

"No, but you should be." Ripper's face crumpled in a familiar: "just about to give birth to the Encyclopaedia Britannica of totally inappropriately timed research" look.

"Look, Ripper, hate to be a killjoy, but couldn't this wait until we are not in imminent danger of being killed?"

"Oh, right. Yes. Right." He paused. "Alright, then Ethan you will join me at the rear. And Frost-" He looked around. "Frost?" No answer. Oh dear. They all looked at each other like idiots for a moment, both Ripper and Buffy flashing their torches around. No Edward Frost. Well, that was mildly alarming-

"EDWARD!" Anita had rallied her strength, but it was for nothing when only silence answered her sudden call. "EDWARD!"

"Where was he?" Ripper asked. "When the muttune't came through, where was he standing?"

"By the tunnel entrance. Opposite to you." Buffy replied. Her torch was already fixed on a spot, not too far to the left of the tunnel in question. No Edward Frost.

"Dammit." Ripper breathed. Ethan frowned. Oh no, he wasn't going to...? Stepping up close, deliberately invading the man's personal space, Ethan grabbed Ripper's upper arm and spoke an inch from his face.

"Have you truly gone insane? The kid's probably spread through a hundred bellies by now." No reply, but a muscle bunched in his old friend's jaw. "He knew the risks-"

"No he bloody well did not!" Ripper shook his arm from Ethan's grasp and was suddenly spitting into his face. Now there was a sight for sore eyes. _Anita had been wrong, she had been wrong! Ripper was still Ripper and nothing had destroyed that, not even her wishful thinking..._ Ethan looked across the room and then back at his old friend. Ripper's gaze had shifted back to the left of the far tunnel.

"You wouldn't make it half way." Deliberately goading. "And for what? A few scraps of tweed?"

"That's the difference between you and I." Ripper pinned a black stare on Ethan's face. _This was familiar..._ "I'm not going to abandon anyone on the basis of a guess, a wishful thought. If Frost is alive then I won't leave him behind."

"How do you propose to get across the room then? For all we know this lot are just waiting for us to split up before they finish us off."

"So we should just leave the boy-?"

"Assuming that he's not already dead."

"- on the off chance that you're right?" Ripper ignored his interruption.

"We leave him." The vampire spoke. The demon's head was still in his hand and Dawn once again only partially visible against his long black coat. "Can't be having the Bit snacked on and we can't risk splitting up to go get this Frost git." Buffy's eyebrows climbed her forehead as she listened to Spike. "If he came down here with you then he knew the risks and your mate is right: he made his sodding bed so now he's got to lie in it."

"Shut up Spike." Buffy snapped, but the impact lost any fire it might have had considering that she continued to stare at the vampire like he had just grown a second head. "We… We won't be leaving anyone behind, whether they knew the risks or not. Not on my watch." She finished in a rush, tearing her gaze away and frowning.

"Yes shut up." Ripper seconded. "If I wanted the opinion of a serial killing, sociopathic, mass murdering, child killing, pathological liar then I would ask for it. You've caused enough trouble already." Despite his precipitous tone Ripper did not launch himself across the room, but paused and looked for Anita. "What do you say Annie?"

The woman, looking like porcelain in the weak light, took a moment to answer, to drag her eyes from where they had glazed over looking at Frost's last known location. She looked at Ripper and for a split second Ethan thought he was looking at a ghost. Normally exquisitely pale, in the faint light the rest of her looked just as drained of colour. It was an alarming sight and Ethan found himself deferring instinctively to Ripper, but the man was not reacting in anyway to the strange scene. That in itself was odd. Ripper's sight was as gifted as Annie's, and never strayed for long from his lover when they were in sight of one another. Now, though it was as if he had gone blind, such was his disinterest. Ethan suddenly frowned. Blind. Ripper had muttered something about being blind earlier? Blind to Chaos magicks? Or more? Was that it? No, couldn't be. Could it? He stared at the Watcher, but the man was once again, urgently scanning the room. No, he was just distracted by their dire situation that was all. Dire situations had a habit of doing that …

Then the impression was evaporating and he was left wondering if there had been anything in it at all. He was getting skittish. It was those damned hell spawn still staring and creeping him out. Ethan shook his head. He had to keep it together, this was not the time to crack up and lose his one real chance to get down here and gather some valuable data.

"We can't leave until we know for sure if he is dead." Anita spoke. "I can't sense him from here, but the muttune't are blocking my line of sight so..." She took a breath. "We can't leave him. It could be any one of us over there. It could be you Ethan." She looked across at Spike. "It could be you Spike, it could be Dawn.

"Don't let us turn away from doing the right thing because of an accident of fate that put Edward in our places. That would be to give in to irrational fears and prejudices and diminish us all.

"We can't know what these muttune't are thinking or waiting for and so to assume they mean us no harm or are awaiting some fortuitous turn of fate to kill us are equally presumptuous. Remember what Edward himself told us: these creatures are not intelligent. They are opportunistic hunters that only gather in packs when they sense that there is more food than one of them can eat. We saw that here.

"And remember they had us separated before Spike and Dawn arrived, and were starting to overwhelm us, but they stopped attacking us _before_ we regrouped. We cannot pretend to know what is going on in what minds they have, but to let our gut-based speculations be the death of one of us? How could we do this and still be worthy of carrying on- of fighting the good fight?" A thoughtful silence drifted across the little group.

"Well, I could for one." Ethan heard himself pipe up. "Sorry Annie love, but pretty speech or no, I'm not one much inclined for suicide."

"Me neither." The vampire. "Can't say I'm worried about the whole righteous fighting thing either, what with me being evil and all."

"I'll go." Giles hefted his sword. "Annie, you can give me cover. It may not kill them, but they don't seem to like your arrows much." He smiled slightly his lover, and Ethan did not need to be able read auras to read the utter love he was broadcasting. Oh _please._ Ethan rolled his eyes. _Going to get us all killed-_

"I'll go with you." The Slayer suddenly spoke.

"Buffy-" Dawn's small voice piped up in protest. The Slayer looked at her.

"Hush. We are not going to leave anyone behind. Just stay here." Her eyes flickered from Anita to Ethan and finally settled reluctantly on the vampire. "Spike," she said, with a strange look on her face, "will look after you." The vampire returned her look, frowned slightly and then released his demon face with an abrupt shake of his head.

"No problem." He looked down at the girl between himself and Buffy. "Didn't I tell you not to worry with the Big Bad here to protect you?"

"Giles," The Slayer spoke. "Got your back." The Watcher nodded and tossed his torch to Ethan.

"Keep the beam on us. Think you can manage that?" Ethan nodded, reluctantly.

"Sure, until the little beggars get their groove back and then-"

"Fine. Buffy? Let's go."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Spike watched the Slayer and Watcher gingerly approach the first row of, what were they called - muttune't? - and frowned. This was not going at all according to plan. Not at sodding all. No cringing or lusting Buffy to delight in, no fighting, and not even anything remotely worth looking at. Instead he had discovered and then lost (embarrassingly publicly) an entire army of interesting minions in the blink of an eye and succeeded in getting himself totally thrown off his game by the one he had come here to toy with.

 _Spike will look after you._

What was in that? More importantly, though, why wasn't he insulted by it? He should be offended by the outrageous assumption that he would do a Slayer's bidding and care for what should be his lunch! He should be insulted… He should be…

…..

But here he was, all fanged up and no one to bite, pushed to the sidelines whilst the Slayer went at it as if he weren't even there. Except that he was. Spike dug his fingers into the demon head he was still holding. This was all buggered up!

As if communicating by telepathy the Slayer and Watcher positioned themselves in front of the muttune't. The creatures, for their part, did not move or blink or breathe or give any indication that they perceived in any way the very immediate threat that was sharpening the air above their heads.

Then their attackers moved.

The Watcher first. A deceptively easy looking swing took two heads and left two bodies to slump where they had crouched. The injury released a stink cloud of rancid fumes and Spike grimaced, remembering not to breathe. Beside him, tangled in the folds of his coat, Dawn gagged. He felt her squirm around. The rest of the muttune't did not move, still staring at him with their large, innocent, liquid-black eyes. Flocks from the Devil's fields. Lambs with sharp little fangs and a taste for the Undead.

Wankers.

Then the Slayer was moving: leaping onto the fallen bodies and slamming into the unresponsive pack. Together she and her Watcher cleaved a quick path into the swarm. None of the creatures moved. None of them so much as took a nip at their heels whilst the wound on his own leg was throbbing like misery. He scowled. _That would be right. Bloody do-gooders getting all the breaks._

To his left the strange woman, Annie, was poised like a statue, crossbow raised and cocked. From here he could feel the vibrations rippling through the air from her hovering trigger finger. And again he smelled the ugliness emanating from her blood. His mouth felt sour from the taste and he frowned, pursed his lips. Strange. And yet, now that he was close enough to get a good whiff, it was strangely _familiar_. He _had_ been here before. Somewhere, sometime he had sensed all this before. He stared at the woman, taking in the noble features, the vampire pale skin, the interesting hue of her empathic skills, the vulnerable tremble that made ripples in the air - that suddenly aroused his beast.

"This is incredibly stupid." Ethan suddenly spoke, interrupting Spike's musings. This man Spike knew he had encountered before. Or his imprint anyway. Not too long ago the cemetery air, earth and magickal planes had all borne his impression. Spike had made note of that.

Since his chipping the vampire's interest in all things unexpected or unusual had been boosted above his already vast appetite. His new vulnerability, and his new alliance with the Enemy, had sharpened his sense for danger and he rarely missed any change, no matter how small, in his home territory. Thus the passage of a half decent Chaos mage had not gone unnoticed. So why hadn't he followed it up? _Must have been pissed as a newt._ _Maybe full of Hell blood too..._

"Quiet Ethan." Annie said.

"He's going to get eaten alive." The Chaos mage continued. "The little bastards are waiting for something and then they are going to kill him and us. We should make a break for it. Now. While we still can. While _he_ still can." He looked briefly at the woman, waiting for a response. He didn't get one. "Times have changed then have they, love? 'Once upon' you would have been the first to step in his path."

"Ethan-" Flat warning tone. What was this then?

"Whatever happened between you two? Ripper never said and you disappeared on us."

"This is not the time and you have no idea what you are talking about. It was, and it still is, none of your business." Spike cocked his head. This was far more interesting than watching the other two jungle slash through a bunch of mannequins. "Just watch your torch light and be quiet."

When the mage did not reply Spike returned to watching the passage of the Watcher and Slayer. They were almost at their goal and the trail of their destructive passage was still clear of all but bodies. The muttune't did not move.

Not over there anyway.

Bugger.

One of the creatures surrounding the four of them blinked. Big lazy flutter of the eyelids. _Crap_. Then another blinked. Yet another arched its back, stretching. Another. Another. Another.

"Shit." Spike spoke. "They're waking up!" He shoved Dawn behind him. "We should never have split up."

"RIPPER!" Ethan called, staring around his feet. "Hurry up would you. It seems our luck is starting to run out."

Across the room the Watcher turned to look at them. Beyond him the Slayer was clearing the last row.

"Giles he's here! He's alive, I can see him breathing!"

"Ok then kids, its time to leave." Ethan called out. One of the creatures near his feet inched forward on all fours. Ethan backed up. Beside him the Empath did not move, still playing guard for the Watcher. "If you can possibly think of anything to do about this now would be a good time to try again." Spike looked up to see the chaos mage staring at him.

"Like what?" Spike asked, stepping back as two muttune't tried to place tentative hands on his boots. He kept Dawn pressed to his back with one hand as he moved. He felt her stumble. "Don't fancy getting nipped again mate."

"I don't know." Ethan snapped. He jerked his head around, scanning the creatures at his back. "Do something. Anything."

"Alright." Spike hurled the head he had been holding straight into the advancing Muttune't. They recoiled. The decapitated head smacked the right hand one in the face and it hissed, shaking itself. They advanced again. Spike stepped closer and let a deep rumble roll up from his chest. The creatures weren't impressed by that anymore either and padded forward again. "Didn't work. Ok, I've got one idea left."

"Yes?" Ethan asked.

"Running for it."

"Excellent plan. RIPPER!" Ethan screamed across the cleared path. The path. Waking Muttune't were starting to notice their fallen comrades that lay along that trail. Their fallen comrades were beginning to notice that they had fallen. Those still standing started to close the gap, stretching out with soft exploring hands for the body parts they could reach.

"What's going- EEW!" Dawn had poked her head between Spike's arm and body. Just in time to see the intact hell spawn start to feast on the wriggling, struggling, hissing remains of their not-quite-dead brethren. Her hard little hands grabbed around the vampire's middle and clung fast. "Spike." Her voice came to his ears in a soft horrified moan. "I wanna go hooome."

"Yeah, just give me a minute pet." Spike kicked the closest muttune't in the face as it moved in. Its friends hissed at him as it fell away.

Across the room, now isolated and penned in, the Slayer had Giles' sword and was creating more corpses. The Watcher was only partially in sight, kneeling, obviously dealing with whatever remained of the missing Edward Frost. Buffy swung again. Bodies crumpled and bounced into pieces all around her. Muttune't reached greedily for the new body parts, blocking the advance of the rest of the pack. Wait a minute. Spike looked down and saw that the head and body he had created earlier were the subject of equally intense desire and small clusters of the hell spawn were gathered around them, feasting like hyenas and blocking the advance of those behind.

"Kill them!" Spike called out. "Just cut them up, smack them down. Look!" He pointed at the busy muttune't. Ethan and Anita looked. "Knock down as many as you can. It'll buy us some time. BUFFY!" He yelled across the room as Ethan smashed the torch butt into a convenient cranium and the Empath released an arrow to take out another. The Slayer sliced again before looking up. "Take out as many as you can - all around you. Keep the little bastards as busy as you can." She paused for a moment and he wondered if she had understood him. Then she was in action. So fast and beautiful. Sword like lightening, like a silver thread, arcing in flawless sweeps. Spike felt his breath catch in his throat. What he wouldn't give for a piece of that...

"SHIT!" A sharp tug and he was going down. Jerked off balance by a hand at his heel. Dawn shrieked his name and he managed to push her away as he hit the ground.

Spike roared as the creatures moved in. Within a heartbeat he had torn one muttune't limb from limb and sent another sprawling both eyes destroyed. It wasn't enough. Hands pulled at him. Tugging his legs with that gentle but overwhelming strength. Pulling on his coat. Tearing at his boots. Spike punched, gouged, flailed and tore with his fangs, gagging on the disgusting flesh. Muttune't went flying left and right, body parts up and down. He was a hurricane of movement and it felt like liquid fire was filling his veins. Tearing and ripping, punching and kicking. They fell like paper monkeys, shredded under his vampire strength. He grinned, a happily vicious fang filled smile, but suddenly a lucky little demon found the wound on his leg and Spike roared again.

"SPIKE!" Dawn.

"GET BACK!" Anita's voice. An arrow sliced the air near Spike's head and the lucky one went tumbling backward.

Still, it wasn't enough. More demon spawn moved in. New hands on his arms, his coat, his legs. Faster now, more confidant and the sheer weight of them started to sap his strength. One of them bit into the toe of his boot. _Fuck._

"SPIKE! BUFFY HELP!" Dawn again. Voice raw. "GET AWAY FROM HIM! BUFFY HELP HELP!" Then more voices. He heard them above him, behind him. The rest of the scattered group, calling, screaming. The air filled with blood and terror. Muttune't hissed. Then they started screaming again. The deafening shrieks like knives through both of his ears.

 _Dawn._

 _Buffy._

Spike wasn't prepared for the sheer animal terror that the sudden thought of the Summers' girls filled him with. Like being injected with ice, the molten fire in his veins suddenly snap froze. Buffy. Dawn. Out there in the screaming bloody mess of hungry demon spawn. Sweet faced little Bit collapsing under snapping jaws and soft hands: tenderly torn limb from limb. The Slayer, falling to the filthy mindless nobodies that crawled at her feet, unworthy to even stand in her presence. No. That couldn't be. That just couldn't be. It wasn't going to happen.

He wouldn't let it happen.

His vision flooded red and Spike exploded from the smothering pack bringing forth every drop of strength he had and giving it all to his demon. No more William. No more Spike. The demon roared its fury, filling the cavern to overflowing with the exquisite joy of murder and mayhem - the bliss of being free.

Buffy hacked at the advancing lines of hell spawn, moving as fast as she could to keep them from reaching Giles and Edward behind her. Bodies and body parts littered the ground at her feet, and true to Spike's sharp observation, they proved to be a welcome diversion. Clusters of the disgusting Hell creatures tore apart the remains and slowed the advance of the others. It wasn't going to be enough though. There were too many of the damned things.

"SPIKE!" Dawn's sudden shriek slashed across the room and Buffy looked up in time to see Spike dragged down into the murderous pack that surrounded him. "SPIKE!" She saw him shove her sister away as he fell and heard his outraged roar as he disappeared from view. _Oh my god._

"GET BACK!" Anita swivelled as she called out. Dawn leaped away as the English woman fired a bolt into the swarming pack around the fallen vampire. Somewhere inside the mass a muttune't shrieked. Body parts suddenly flew up from the mass as Spike went to work. She saw a flash of his vamp ridges as he surged upward. Watched, heat flooding her veins, as he ripped into the belly of a muttune't and spilled something that looked like grey spaghetti.

"SPIKE! BUFFY HELP!" Dawn suddenly called and Buffy jerked as if stung. _Keep it together Slayer..._ "GET AWAY FROM HIM. BUFFY HELP HELP!"

"DAWN!" She called and suddenly they were all calling and swearing and the muttune't started their freaking squealing again. Then Spike suddenly surged upward again, yellow eyes flashing gold. His roar lit up the great cavern and reverberated through her bones. It was wild, bestial, ecstatic.

 _Sexy..._

No, focus, focus.

"I'M COMING DAWN! GILES!" She called over her shoulder, lunging to make a meal out of another muttune't.

"Alright." Suddenly her Watcher was with her. Somehow he had secured the unconscious Edward over his shoulder, hog-tying the younger man with what looked like his own belt. He swung the torch butt and took out a nearby muttune't. "Let's go."

Then it all got a little ugly.

From somewhere deep within their ranks the muttune't began to surge forward. Like a tidal wave the ripple of movement swelled and grew. Faster, more confidently now, they pushed closer, hands pawing, teeth snapping wherever they thought they were going to get a bite. And with it the hissing and screaming again. In tune Buffy pushed herself harder, faster. Bodies fell. Screaming became shrieking as the Slayer lashed out. Desperation and terror guided her sword. Severed arm here, head there, torso, legs, hands, fingers. Faster. Harder. A choking cloud of stink was rising up around them. The Slay was swelling inside her too, and unbidden it rose to the surface, filling her with its dark desires. Inviting her to dance. Demanding it of her with a strength that was new and shocking and for a moment she instinctively resisted it.

Then Dawn screamed again, shrieking for the muttune't to go away.

Buffy let the power of the Slay rise without struggle. Her senses sharpened, growing to encompass the room and take in every sight, smell, sound and taste.

 _Oh yeah._

Alongside, without a word, her Watcher fell into rhythm with her, matching her move for move. She felt his presence like a welcome twin, and the heat of him barely an inch away, was like a blazing fire. A blast furnace. Her very own inferno to guard her back.

Yes.

This was how it should be - she slit a muttune't neck to groin - together and in tune. Hack and slash. Rip and tear. Taking on the foul corrupting things that inhabited this filthy underworld. And killing, killing, killing.

The prey surrounded her like a banquet. Hers for the sampling. All of it hers... Pleasure/pain flared and grew in her belly. She remembered this feeling, this perfect ecstasy, and raced toward it, tearing through the Prey at her feet. Her sword flashed. It lifted and fell like an extension of her arms, her clawed fingers.

Yes.

Yes.

Yes.

This was perfection.

Prey fell like autumn leaves. Cleaved and broken, they lay twisting and hissing at her feet. Grovelling before her. She grinned, lips pulled tight across her teeth: predatory and wild.

Behind her her Watcher rammed his makeshift club through a nearby skull and yanked it free to smash another. His victorious roar made her hair stand up along her arms. Its ecstasy rolled across her skin, through her guts, and she answered his triumph with a howl of her own, throwing herself into the feast of Prey before her.

They fell away from her bright fury now, seeing their own death in her eyes. First they stopped advancing. Then they started retreating and the Slay howled inside her. Victory. Dominion. Hers, all hers. Hers for the taking.

Ecstasy burned a path through her guts, upward and out though her sword and she chased the stinking hoard as it retreated across the cavern. Her Watcher was never more than a step from her side.

"BUFFY!"

Hack and slash. She sliced an arm free, took a retreating head and murderous joy boiled through her blood. Every stroke of the blade was perfection. Flawless. She snarled and picked up her pace. Hunting them now as they ran in terror. Chasing, tracking, as they ran for the tunnels. _No where to hide down there my prey. Can smell you out. Can take you-_

"RUPERT!"

"BUFFY!"

The dull mortal voices pricked at her heightened senses. Muted flutters in the symphony that surrounded her.

What was this?

Stab with the sword. Splitting flesh, spilling guts, taking heads, arms and legs. Killing. Killing. Killing. Beside her, her Watcher reached out to grab and bash. The sounds of battle roared and flew around her - a melody of violent murder. But, through it all, there it was again. A voice calling to her? A tiny little noise on the far far horizon. She cut down more Prey.

"BUFFY!" There it was _again_. The tenor was familiar and insistent. A voice-

 _Dawn!_

And the Slay came crashing down around her, collapsing and retracting like a slap in the face, senses hammered back into dullness, wild strength sapped. She stumbled. Her Watcher's hand instantly grabbed for her arm, supporting her weight, as they came to a rambling, stumbling, panting halt. _Oh damn that was too intense..._

"BUFFY!"

She turned, Giles mirroring the movement, and there across the room stood Dawn, Anita and Ethan. And Spike, in full vamp out. The Slay flared weakly as her eyes alighted on him. _Hunt. Track. Kill the vampire. Yes._ NO. She took a deep calming breath and watched as Dawn and then the others flew across the room toward her.

"Ok, anyone have any idea what just happened?" Ethan panted staggering in behind Dawn as the teen launched herself into Buffy's arms.

"BUF-" the girl squealed and was promptly ripped away. By Giles. Buffy followed the snatching move and was shocked to see her Watcher single handedly holding her sister by the scruff inches above the ground. Dawn yelped and kicked out. Giles did not move and Buffy recognised the utterly feral look in his eye. _What the hell?_

"GILES!" Buffy demanded. He looked at her, eyes hard. "Giles. Put her down."

"Rupert!" Anita panted, face pale and streaming with sweat. "Ru."

"Spike!" Dawn yelped, but no one saw Spike until it was too late. One moment the vamped out Undead was motionless and the next he was on Giles like a dog - snarling. Dawn went spinning away to the ground and Buffy rushed to her aid.

"DAWN!" The girl was face down on the ground, not moving. Not even slowing down, Buffy skidded to her knees and scooped her up into a sitting position. With her free hand she made a rapid check. Not a scratch, she was okay (well, discounting the post shock freak out that was rapidly building). Buffy exhaled in a heavy relieved rush.

"FUCK!" The expletive burst from Ethan's lips like a bullet and Buffy snapped around to see Spike and Giles locked in a deadly embrace, Edward still limp and partially squashed between them. The two combatants did not notice him. Instead they stood snarling face to snarling face, yellow eye pinned on hazel, fists full of each other's clothing. Sweat was pouring from her Watcher's flushed, though strangely pale face. Spike's fangs were bared and snapping with tiny rapid contractions of jaw muscles, less than an inch from contact. _Oh shit._ They were motionless, locked down and locked together, but that would not last. One slip from either and the other would make this very messy (and she knew who would win).

"Come on Ripper." Ethan was hovering, making indecisive, aborted movements, obviously trying to find an 'in' that was free from Spike's fangs and Giles' fists. "Let the vampire go. There's a good chap."

"Rupert." Anita did not have the same foibles and reached out to touch the Watcher's shoulder, but her hand had no sooner made contact than she recoiled as if burnt. Not too far from the truth, Buffy thought hurrying back to the crazed pair. Not deterred for long though, Anita reached a hand out to tentatively curl around Giles' cheek. "Rupert!" Her voice was sharp, commanding, and Giles frowned, but did not release Spike.

"GILES!" Buffy lunged forward as she spoke. A strange, intense feeling accompanied her command. The power of it poured from her lips to her Watcher's ears and the man jerked as if electrified. Buffy felt her jaw drop. Did _she_ do that?

Then Giles was blinking and she saw the moment that the Slay finally lost its command. Oh thank god- OH SHIT! "SPIKE!" The Slayer lunged forward again as Giles suddenly relaxed, blinking like he had just awoken, and the enraged vampire pressed home for the kill. She was not a second too late and took Spike out with a ferocious body slam. They tumbled away in a tangle of limbs.

"Spike!" Buffy took the advantage of her surprise attack to pin the vampire to the ground, hands above his head. He snapped up at her and bucked, snarled. "SPIKE! Stop it. Stop! Spike, I'm not letting you up until you get a freaking grip!"

"Spike?" Dawn. Her sister was inching toward them.

"Stay back Dawn."

"It's ok Buffy." Her sister was alarmingly calm and shocked, she turned to watch her approach. This was new. "It's ok. He won't hurt me; he was trying to help me." She stepped up close and knelt even closer. Buffy wanted to slap her away but at the same time she knew her sister's observation was right. Spike had leaped to her sister's defence as Giles had to hers. She stared down at the squirming demon and wondered. Spike getting noble? A soulless murdering vampire, a void in a dead man's skin, capable of real human motivations? The very thought was so ridiculously abhorrent that she could not bring herself to follow it to its logical conclusion. No. No. Honour was for people: souled creatures. No. She pushed more weight onto Spike's wrists watching as his demon-cast features twisted in an ugly scowl. Right now he would kill her if he could. That face said it all. Since she had been Called she had seen this face, slinking through shadow, bursting free from the earth, and crouched bloody and feral over numerous innocent victims, taunting her. Hundreds of faces and each one the same. And each one dust.

Dawn was wrong. Spike had attacked Giles in defence of Dawn yeah, but what did that prove? Who knew what was really lurking in that gutter mind that did not involve some twisted machinations for death, destruction and betrayal. There was over 100 years of history there. No. No, there was no way Spike's motives could be that... well, pure. She was sure of that.

"Dawn-"

"It's ok Buffy." She reached out in a mirror of Anita not moments ago. "Spike." She touched his face and he whipped around, yellow eyes flashing. His teeth clacked shut. Then he was blinking and Buffy felt him go limp beneath her. A second later she was looking into wide blue eyes and a handsome human face, and suddenly thoughts of nobility did not seem so incredible. They stared at one another, mere inches apart. She read confusion in that face and the shocking vulnerability of it instantly aroused both the Slayer and the girl. _Kiss it or kill it?_ Look at him now. Soft blue eyes made smoky in the moment and fang-free mouth that gaped at her just a little, just enough... _Kiss it or kill it?_ Did it really matter? Wasn't it all the same - just different sides of the same coin?

Kiss it or kill it?

And then her indecision didn't really matter because that mouth was rising up to meet her halfway. A fraction closer and they would be -

"Uh, Buffy?" Dawn spoke and the world slipped back into place with a painful snap. Oh, oh no. She sat up with a start, releasing Spike's wrists. Spike (no, the _vampire_ ) lay underneath her, still and dumb, letting her take the spotlight. Front and centre for her own private audience. Oh god, Dawn, Giles. She couldn't bear to look up to see them watching her, and knowing.

The blush rose like a geyser. What had she done? She tried to stop the flush but failed and the self-disgust burned her cheeks all the hotter. And Spike? The bastard just lay there and let her squirm. _Stop blushing, stop blushing, stop blushing._ Then she saw a corner of that mouth curl and the self-recrimination blossomed into raw anger.

 _Bastard, bastard, hate you, hate you, hate you. You do this and do this and I fall for it every time because you play at being human, you play at being our friend, our ally and you play at being a guy that maybe I -_

She sprang from his prone body.

Dawn was wrong. This was just more classic Spike. Finding ever-new ways to taunt her and slip it in when she wasn't expecting it. Just like a predator. Just like an _animal_. Dawn was wrong. Whatever reason he may have had for jumping to her sister's defence it was not because he cared. Caring was a feeling and one he couldn't have because **Demon's. Didn't. Feel**.

Spike watched her jump up from him and rose to his elbows, staring.

"Uh guys-" Dawn suddenly interrupted again, pointing across the room. They all looked.

"Oh for fuck's sake." Spike said, peering around so he could see the muttune't packed tunnel. The exit tunnel. The gleam from a hundred glistening black eyes glittered like stars in the night sky. Menacing, murderous little stars.

"Just what the bloody hell is going on?" Ethan. "What the hell is all this?"

"I have no idea." Giles spoke, staring at the tunnel. Edward was still slung across his shoulder and incredibly, and disturbingly, still unconcious. "But I suggest that we get out of here while we can."

"We can't _get out_." Ethan again. "Unless you want to try round three."

"We'll have to take our chances and try another tunnel." Giles swept his gaze across them all, skipping lightly over Dawn. "Let's go."

Without a word they all fled across the body strewn cavern, following Giles into the closest tunnel. Buffy turned to back as she entered, but the muttune't did not follow. They stayed in their tunnel, watching, waiting.

By the second bend Ethan had had enough. He could barely keep himself upright let alone produce a forward moving stagger, and his strength, even for the weakest incantation, was spent. Annie, immediately ahead of him, was not faring any better and yet still Ripper drove them on. On and on into the Powers' knew what. Perhaps the wildness that had let the Watcher take on a vampire was still singing through his veins, pouring unlimited strength into his limbs. Ethan coughed and bounced off the wall. Well, unless the bastard was going to share, this little black duck had had enough for one day.

"RIPPER!" He called out, coming to a staggering halt against the wall. "RIPPER STOP!"

"Hey!" The Slayer suddenly appeared behind him swerving quickly to avoid a collision.

"Ripper, we have to stop." Ethan watched their leader's shadow come to a standstill up ahead, the multiple muffled thumps of several more exhausted shades coming to rest against the walls. Even the vampire leaned a shoulder to the rock. In the heartbeat before he spoke again the narrow tunnel filled with a storm of panting and coughing. "We have to rest for a bit. Find a hidey-hole. Somewhere." He gestured tiredly at Ripper's human burden. "I'm sure our Mr Frost would appreciate it no end."

More panting.

"Alright." Ripper sounded a smidge contrite. "Keep moving though, we need to keep moving and stick together."

"Sticking together." He nodded, beginning to catch his breath. "Good plan. Excellent. Lead on Mac Duff."

Giles turned and started again and they all followed: silent and subdued. Ethan pushed away from the wall and forced his legs into action. Not long now, he promised them.

"Annie love?" He reached his old friend before she had made her move. "How are you standing up to all this?" He curled a hand around her elbow and steered her away from the wall, and for the second time that night he found himself taking all of her weight. And again it alarmed him. "Annie?"

"Let's go." She said, ignoring him and pushing free with an obvious effort. Without another word she walked away. He stood watching her for a long second. Yes, they had all pushed themselves to the limit tonight. Yes, he knew they were all exhausted. Yes, he knew they were all walking on the fumes from spent adrenaline and that the three older humans were probably going to be the most gutted, but he couldn't shake the feeling that this was something more than simple fatigue. He knew Annie, _had_ known her, for years. Something wasn't right.

"Hey!" A Slayer hard poke in the ribs. He started walking.

As they made their way deeper into the Hellmouth Ethan found himself moving closer and closer to Annie. Ahead of him Ripper still lead the way, followed closely by Dawn and the vampire. Behind him, the Slayer watched their backs. For the moment then, he was protected and so he was left to indulge his anxiety in useless hovering. Useless, because Annie did not seem to need the only help he felt he had to offer. She did not stagger or stop once, nor did she even weave as she followed Dawn's back. But rather than reassure him this apparent well being only made him more and more apprehensive. About what, though, he did not know.

"Here." Ripper's voice suddenly came from ahead. _About time._ Dumbly they all followed him into a side tunnel. "It's not going to be completely secure, but I think it's the best we are going to do." His audience showed their appreciation by immediately collapsing in an untidy line behind him. All bar the Slayer that is, she turned back toward the entrance, dropping to a watchful, resting crouch.

Ethan slumped against the wall and watched as Ripper took the opportunity to unburden himself of Mr Frost, propping the boy against the wall and kneeling before him. Frost remained limp: their own life size Raggedy Andy. Ethan sighed and ran the tail of his shirt over his face. He felt like shit. Was this going to be worth the effort if he found what he was looking for but died in the process? Beside him Anita had pulled her water bottle free. The sight of it dried his mouth and he fumbled for his own. Buffy did the same. Anita handed her bottle to Dawn, sitting beside her.

"Edward." Ripper's hand was at the younger man's throat. He fumbled for a second and then shone his torch into the slack face. Peeled back an eyelid. "Frost!" He slapped a cheek.

"I-is he, he like... dead?" Dawn's soft voice peetered out on the last word. She was peering over Spike's arm, hiding behind it really. Ethan noted the pinch in Ripper's face as he looked up at the girl. Guilt. Ripper did it so well, and never so well as when he was not at fault.

"No. Just unconcious. Give me a hand here would you Annie-"

"Ah, don't think so old man." Ethan interrupted the flow and pressed a hand to Annie's shoulder. "What can an empath do here that a I cannot? I was sent with you for a reason Ripper: chaos magicks. If Mr Frost is going to be difficult I think I have a greater chance of waking him than Anita. No offence Ms Snow."

"None taken." She was looking at him with puzzlement, he could feel it. And perhaps a little relief as well.

Ethan forced himself back to his feet and moved up the line. He squatted by his old friend and looked at their patient.

"Here." Ripper handed him the torch. "Shine it there." Ethan complied and watched with as much interest as his fatigue and his not-caring-very-much would allow as Ripper examined the young man's head. Behind him he heard the tiny snickt of a lighter.

"Put that out Spike." The Slayer. Terse and snappy. "There isn't enough air in here to start with without your disgusting smoke."

"Hey, it's only the one."

"Out."

"Fine. So, am I going to get any water then?"

"You don't need it."

"Says you." An indignant tone.

"Says biology Spike. Hello, vampire!"

"I have a tickle!" Indignant voice and small dainty cough. "'Sides, not as if I'm going to get what I really need is it? Unless your Mr Frost snuffs it." Scuffing in the sand and Ethan felt the vampire by his side. "Is it looking serious doc?" Spike sniffed at the boy.

"Spike." The Watcher.

"Alright, just let me know though, you know, if he's going to go south. No sense good blood going to waste. A vampire-"

"VAMPIRE!" The young man in question suddenly exploded into consciousness, pushing up from the wall like it was on fire. "VAMPIRE!"

"Yes, as I _was_ saying-" Spike snapped.

"Edward, calm down!" Ripper had his hands on Frost's shoulders, pushing him back to the wall, but the young man was not listening. There was a scuffle and suddenly a small wooden cross was thrust in the vampire's face. Spike recoiled with a hiss.

"Get back from me vampire." Well this was amusing.

"EDWARD!" Ripper barked.

"Get back!" The young man spat.

"I _am_ sodding back. Any more _back_ and I'll be through the fucking wall! What the hell is your problem - I just saved you."

"Exaggerating much." The Slayer.

"Yeah, well- imminent scalding makes me nervous."

"Be gone foul demon-" Edward went on, oblivious to the interruption. So Frost had found his pluck at last! Ethan thought, and tried not to laugh.

" _Hey_! Who are you calling foul? Now, just steady on!"

"I will not listen to your lies ugly night walker."

" _Ugly-_ " Spike choked. Ethan joined him.

"Mr Frost that is enough!" Ripper barked. "You will stand down. NOW!" That worked.

"M-Mr Giles?" He switched his glassy stare from Spike to Ripper. "I-it's a vampire!"

"Yes. I am aware of that." Ripper ran his hands down Frost's arms and collected the cross. "Now, just-just calm down. He is a vampire yes, but he will not harm you. He is incapable of harming human beings."

"Yeah, he's been fixed." The Slayer again. Ooh _she_ was suddenly spoiling for a fight.

" _Hey!_ " Spike glared at her, bristling. Edward managed to make his stupid and bamboozled face once again. He blinked at Buffy.

"You know: spayed." The Slayer supplied.

"You know, it's not too late to-" Spike began.

"And that is enough from the both of you! Buffy. Spike." Ripper frowned at them both.

"S-s-spike?" Edward switched from stupid and bamboozled to stupid and alarmed. He shuffled back into the wall.

"You've heard of me?" Spike asked, looking genuinely and suddenly pleased. There was a nasty delight in his voice now too, and it lit his eyes with a hard, intent glow. He flashed a glance at the Slayer.

"As one hears of Ebola!" Edward suddenly spat, and a slow, pleased smile curled the vampire's lips. "O-or the Black Death!"

"Or even hives."

"Yes, thank you Buffy." Ripper butted in. "I can see that this conversation is going to be yet another example the necessary use of valuable oxygen.

"Now, if you can bring yourselves to stop I suggest that we all try to get some rest. We have a potentially long and dangerous trek ahead of us. We need all the strength we can muster. Buffy, Spike, since you seem to have energy to spare


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Had they seen it? Did they know? Spike wondered as he slid his eyes quickly over the human beings in the tunnel. And did they now see the tight knot of excitement that was lodged firmly in his chest; that was making him as tense as a coiled spring? He repeated his sweeping, penetrating scrutiny of the tunnel. No eye met his, he could sense no unusual tenseness and no one was whispering anything antsy. If anything they had all sunk further in their fatigued stupor and were even less aware of the world than usual, which suited him just fine, but could it really be that they hadn't seen? Could it be that his current deceit was holding? Was his act really that good?

Nearest to him, and yet firmly within the protective sphere of the Watcher, Edward Frost was hunched over a scrappy looking journal pencilling and silently mouthing half-formed words. The waves of his hot humiliation and despair crashed like breakers against Spike's cool skin. The burn was remorseless and damning.

Fainted. The wanker had fled and then _fainted_.

 _What a nancy._

After the small debriefing, during which the Watcher had revealed that they were hunting for the blood pools, the boy had not met anyone's eye, preferring his scribblings. Even when his cross had been returned to him he had preferred to manfully meet the Watcher eye to mid chest. He had not uttered a word either. So now he sat, leaning away from Ethan to his left, and yet straining away from 'the vampire' to his right, pretending that neither of them existed; that he was in some kind of bubble.

Spike sneered.

There had only been the one personal exchange between the two of them, but Spike's contempt for the ma- the _boy_ – had only deepened since the debriefing. The stupid way he dressed, the way he conducted himself (his English git routine), and the way he tried to hide his trembling, blushing inadequacies behind his precious doodles got on the vampire's goat like nothing else had in a long time. Even his disdain for Harris had not developed so quickly or so sharply. What the hell he was doing here was a mystery and something that should have been ended back in the muttune't chamber. Spike pursed his lips. Still, even if he had witnessed anything 'revealing' the little wanker would have had no idea of the significance of it. No threat there.

Across from Tin Tin, sitting beside the empath, Dawn was also hunched in on herself. Knees drawn up, elbows propped there and hands clasped. Little tremors of cold and fear rippled through her - tiny, barely disturbing the air. The scent of her exhaustion and distress were thick in the tunnel even from where he was crouched warming himself in the tweedy twit's shame ( _my girl didn't faint!_ ). It had been a big mistake to bring her down here. Big mistake. Too soon; too dangerous. He felt a surge of protectiveness well up around his nervous excitement and he suddenly shrugged himself free of his leather long coat.

"Bit." He said. She looked up at him and he felt himself physically drawn into that dark, fearful whirlpool that surrounded her. He moved to her side. "Scoot up from the wall a bit pet. There, see," he whipped the coat around her shoulders, between her back and the cold wall and pulled it tight over her knees. Her little hands grabbed at the lapels and held it shut over her chest.

"But you-"

"Vampire, pet. We don't feel the cold. All the clothing in the world ain't nothing but a bit of decoration for the likes of us."

"Thanks." Her small smile lit up a huge chunk of his insides in a way that was both warming and deeply disturbing. Something was happening to him that was not welcome. This was food he was taking care of here; that he wanted to teach, that he wanted to protect. Forgetting the realities of the action he should be thinking of killing her (all of them really). _Could have my coat and eat her too._ Really. He should. Except that he wasn't. Not like he used to. Used to think it all the time, though he never let on to the Scoobies (what a wank of a name…) – wasn't suicidal now was he. But he had _thought_ it. Sitting there, tied to a sodding bath or perched on the Watcher's stair, surrounded, suffused, with the delicious throbbing warmth of living human blood he had entertained some wild fancies. Thrilled him even in their impotency, they had.

But no more…

Sure the aroma of hot blood tickled his nostrils as always, and as always his beast arched and stretched languorously inside, limbering up for a snack, but there the train of thought to action was severed. He withdrew from Dawn and resumed his sentry crouch, quietly perturbed. He had felt the terrible, degrading effects of the chip earlier, perched in his tree, and had assumed it was some sort of performance anxiety, but now he saw that it was in fact much more than that. Much deeper, more mysterious. And much the worse for it. Especially now when everything was changed. When the whole fucking world had changed.

He thought about that, and the shockingly unexpected explosion of emotion he had felt for the Summers' girls back in the chamber. He was going soft, that was it. That was all. Too much time spent in the company of _dinner_ – learning their sodding names, which was always a mistake. All gooey over a snack-sized bit and a Slayer. Yeah, he was going soft. He _had been_ going soft. All past tense now-

His hackles suddenly rose.

The rest of the tunnel's occupants were looking at him. Even tweedy-poof. He tensed. Now was not the time for any extra attention. Not the time at all. Didn't want anyone seeing anything, particularly not the Slayer. Be nothing left of him but dust if she got wise.

Plastering a contemptuous sneer to his face he blew out sharply in a soundless laugh and turned his head to dismiss them and their silent suspicious stares. Did they honestly think he was that stupid that he would try to harm Dawn, especially when he was mere feet from her irritable vampire-slaying sister? Spike felt their prickling inquisitions and hunched his shoulders against them. One by one, their eyes left him. The Slayer was the last to stop staring. He could feel her sharp barbed gaze like sunlight on the back of his neck, burning him with her distrust. _Fickle, fickle Buffy – what happened to:_ Spike will look after you _?_

The Slayer.

What a shock to come to from his red frenzy and see her, glowing like a golden vision, tearing into the fleeing Muttune't. He had felt her euphoria, her ecstasy, from across the cavernous room and it had sliced through his scarlet fog like lightening and speared him to the spot so that he stopped and let his Prey escape his claws; so that he was suddenly all for her, every fibre of his being focussed on _her_. His dead heart had clenched into a fist in his chest. He was sure it had done. What else could hurt like that?

And, the compression of that lifeless organ had squeezed into his cold veins such a desire to go to her, to present himself, to bite and drink from her, and to have her know him in the doing of it, that he almost felt in its violent seizure an echo of the beat that had thundered in his ears so many years ago.

And then how she had sat astride him, knees squeezing his ribs like to break them, hands like vices around his wrists, staring into his face in a fury, the blood on her cheek like a kiss. What a terrible beauty she had appeared. He had flashed back to a memory of Dru coming to visit him in Angelus' cellar. So long ago now. Bringing with her her soothing words and her little secreted presents of blood. _Mummy and Daddy are out making their merry tonight my William..._ Taking good care of her boy despite _Daddy_.

Then one night she had seduced him there. _Seduced..._ So long since he had thought of fucking in those terms. Well, whatever it got called they had done it right there in that cold stone room. He still chained up to the wall and half out of his mind with this new maddening bloody hunger and the shock of his last Victorian taboo being shattered; she above him, eyes flicking madly between his bloodied face and his torn up, manacled wrists.

Such a rare beauty she was. Just the thought of her face in that soft dark could still catch his chest to this day. The terrible bloodied radiance of his Undead Aphrodite, hovering like the pale moon above him, and there all for him, all _because_ of him. He suppressed the urge to sigh. That night had started something that had sustained them through all the long years they had been lovers. Their own private little something that had frustrated and angered and foiled their Angelus like nothing had in a long long time.

 _There's such a fine line between pain and pleasure._

For the longest time he had thought that the one was of the other, as joined and as inseparable as yin and yang: dark and lovely twins born of his dark and lovely mistress. He had craved them, it, like he had learned he craved blood. With all his young, corrupted Victorian fire he hungered after it: shamelessly and single-mindedly. This new thing; this delicious burning thing that was sometimes (maybe most times) more pain than delight, fixed his focus like nothing ever had.

He had since learned different of course, learnt all the variations he had, but the memory of his initiation still lingered. The hurt and fire, like hand and glove. Fish and water. _Burning little fishes..._ But, some days he wasn't sure he hadn't been right the first time, about the way the world was. Like today. Yeah, like today when everything got turned on its head and he really did not know what to think, except that it was a lot like before all of a sudden.

What did that mean though? Everything was getting mixed and muddled in his head.

Then he came to from his reverie and realised, with a start that he was staring at the Slayer's turned head.

Shit.

He must be careful; it wouldn't do to prematurely draw any of their attention to what burned so brightly in his breast. Not even from Dawn. He couldn't let on to anyone about the incredible, wonderful, amazing thing that had his beast rumbling and surging so close to his skin, ready to roar and howl and laugh. Such a little thing and yet it changed everything. Everything. Spike secreted his gaze between Watcher and Slayer, whilst the demon grinned crazily inside.

 _Yes, that was what was important. Just focus on what's important and everything will be clear once again._

He could take them both out if he wanted. And why not? He had tested the waters just now in the chamber and found, incredibly, that there was nothing to stop him. He could kill them, fill himself up with their potent blood, and rush back to his immortal beloved a champion, a legend. He felt the corners of his mouth curl, felt his fangs tingle and start to drop. There was nothing to stop him now.

Not with the inhibitor chip on the blink.

Oh yeah.

That little bit of muzzling plastic and wire that had tortured him and twisted him around the Slayer's pinky was _not working_. There was nothing standing between him and her delicate throat now but- But. He paused. That 'but' stuck in his craw like sand. But _what_?

But what indeed? The murk rose again to blunt his focus.

As he pondered the question something moved inside him, deeply and darkly and he felt it like it were a living thing; glimpsed it like the flick of a shark's fin in the black demonic waters that used to harbour his precious fucking soul. He clenched his jaw - his demon knew the answer. Knew it with all the dumb, desiring savvy of a beast. His nostrils flared. Fuck. He knew the _but_ alright, felt it rise from the dark and fill him up. No. Can't be thinking like that, can't be, mustn't -

"Rupert, I have to talk to you." The tense whisper, murmured low and meant only for the Watcher pricked at Spike's keen ears, interrupting his increasingly uncomfortable thoughts, and he looked at the empath. She was turned from him, leaning in close to her - new? - lover. Spike looked around the tunnel. Dawn looked to be sleeping, Ethan Rayne had his eyes shut, head leaning against the wall feigning his nap, Frost was still scribbling, and the Slayer was watching their collective bums. She _must_ have heard though. Slayer's ears were even more sensitive than those of the Undead. Polite deafness then? Spike looked back at the Watcher in time to see him looking down at the odd woman.

"Alright." Another whisper, this one confused. A frown was creasing the Watcher's face and he cocked his head, staring.

"Not here." She touched his lips with her fingers. He reached up and grasped that hand, kissed the fingertips.

"Alright." He said again. Nice to see the Watcher could be agreeable when he wanted to, Spike thought as he watched them rise from the sandy ground. "Back shortly. We won't be far." Rupert spoke to Buffy and the Slayer paused before nodding. A second later they were brushing by Spike's place and heading around the corner. The vampire frowned. Rupert had to know that he could be heard around there? Spike felt the Slayer's eyes on him and the realization kicked in: so, the Watcher didn't want the Slayer to hear him and his new mistress. Didn't want to upset her highness was that it? But it didn't matter what the Undead heard. Fuck. Spike glared into the tunnel feeling hurt and angry. Angry that he felt hurt, furious that he felt anything at all. The anger surged onto the Watcher and Spike snarled. He'd eat that bastard before this cruise was over, and how.

"Ru-" The empath stumbled over the syllable and Spike glowered. Eat her too if her blood didn't already taste so sour in his mouth. Whatever it was that had invaded her body it was thick in the air, like sulphur and rot, and made him want to spit. Ok, so he'd break her neck and leave her for the muttune't. They didn't seem so fussy. "How are your eyes?"

"I'm getting by. Hopefully it is just a side effect-" Spike sat up straighter, interest peeked. What was this then? The Watcher's eyes? A momentary flash to the squinting man trying to cast a truth spell on his newly chipped self, sparked in Spike's mind. Was he going blind again (as well as loony)? The thought fizzed inside his chest. What potential, what-

"D-did I do right to take you back to them, the Council?" The empath literally blurted out the question.

"Annie-?"

"Did I? Rupert, tell me."

"Yes, yes of course, you know that. I couldn't have gone on like I was." Then a long pause in which the tension gathered like storm clouds. "It was- Annie, what's going on?"

"It used to keep me awake nights. Wondering if I'd done the right thing. I tried to contact you a- a few months afterward, but Robert said you were in training in the north. He said you were fine, and I am sorry, but I left it at that."

"Robert? Robert _Knightly_? You- you contacted him. That son of a bitch, he never told me."

"Were you 'fine', was he lying to me?"

"Annie." Cloth sounds. "Of course I was alright. I was miserable as fuck without you but I was alright. What you did for me- it was the right thing in so many ways that I can't find the words to thank you for it." More cloth sounds and a muffled intake of breath. "W-were _you_ alright? Where did you go?" Sounded like he didn't want to know the answer to that.

"Home: for a little while. Then I drifted for a bit."

"You didn't go back to the commune? I thought you might have-"

"-but, you're glad I didn't." Spike heard the smile. "No need for you to have been jealous."

"I wasn't jealous."

"Right, like you aren't now oh Green Lantern."

"Well, he's a bastard and he's sneaky."

"I'm sneakier."

"Yes you are, still. Annie what's going on? Why bring up the past now? This is not like you at all."

"Not like me? No I guess not, but I've been thinking a bit lately: about the past. Decisions I've made, or haven't made.

"Do you regret not having a family of your own Ru?"

"Well. Yes, I suppose part of me does, but not the larger part. The path I have chosen has meant that some possibilities have had to be laid to rest, but I knew that before I chose. I have accepted that part of my life. Is this what this is about love? You haven't said, but-"

"Oh babe, I- I-" Then a pause. Pregnant. If ever there was a time to call anything pregnant, this was it. Spike leaned forward. "I'm just realising how much I've missed you, us, that's all." _...?..._ "Just, just don't let go, ok."

 _Oh dear god_ , if there had ever been a doubt about the benefits of his becoming a vampire they had just been laid to rest. What a pile of steaming, couldn't-be-anything-but-human, sentimental tosh! Whoever wrote this gag-fest ought to have their fingers broken and their quill rammed where the sun don't shine. There was no way he could let himself turn back into anything like that. Spike sat back against the tunnel wall. His recent behaviour, the odd attachment he seemed to have developed for the Slayer (don't think about that, don't think about it) and her Scoobies, slipped into his mind and the anger along with it. How close had he come to falling back into that vomitus black-pit, group hugging, Oprah Winfrey-book club, soul-fest? He had felt its sticky fingers drawing at him that was for sure, but he had been so far gone he had not even thought to buck it, not really, not like he once would have.

Fuck.

Well, not any sodding more. He had learned some very interesting things just now, and earlier in the chamber. Enough to make some good old-fashioned fun before he ended it. Yeah. Just like before the chip, before Dru had left him, before _Buffy_.

His fingers went to his duster pocket looking for his fags, except that he wasn't wearing his coat. Fuck the Slayer and her precious pink lungs he wanted a smoke. Spike pushed himself up from his crouch and walked over to Dawn. She was snoozing against the wall making little half snores, smelling all sleepy. Spike squatted down and fished around in the coat pocket. The Slayer was facing away from them, listening intently down her tunnel with her sword tip trailing in the dirt.

"W-what do you think you are doing?" Frost's pathetic little voice whined across the tunnel. Spike ignored him. "S-stop that at once." Dawn stirred, making little animal noises. He found his lighter, then his fags. "S-stop!"

FUCK!

The horribly unique pain of a cross was pushed into his face, missing his skin by a mere hair. That little shit. Spike snarled, game face exploding across his features, as he swivelled and smashed the cross from the boy's hand. The kid shrieked, and the cross bounced around the stone floor and walls and disappeared into the dark.

"Spike!" Dawn.

"Spike!" The Slayer.

"Spike!" The Watcher.

"FUCK!" Spike remembered, only at the last second, his charade. He clutched at his head and made what he hoped was a good approximation of his usual chip-face.

"Spike what did you do?" The Slayer. When the vampire looked up he got a goodly glimpse of an angry Buffy, and Frost, all hunched over himself, pressed against the wall. The empath was crouched by the boy. His little whimpers stoked the fire still flaring in Spike's belly. All of them protecting that little snit. That pathetic piece of crap that should by all rights be dead. Torn to shreds and good riddance.

"What did _I_ do?" Spike spat, rising to his feet, clutching his head. _Could rip her throat out. Could do it right now._ _Do it fast and take the Watcher next_. "What did _I_ do you stupid bitch? Ask that little fuck what he was doing putting a cross in my face!"

She hit him. Fast rabbit punch to the nose. He fell back against the wall, but lunged forward again, game face pulled into a snarl. _Do it, do it, do it_. He was an inch from her stubborn, self-righteous, bitch face.

"Go on, try it." The Slayer's voice was tight and sharp and scraped at his ears like a scream. "Go on. I can see you want to, so go on. Do it fast enough and may be you can rip my throat out."

She knew! His eyes widened. She knew. The revelation stopped him dead in his tracks. She knew and she hadn't said and now she was going to try to dust him. Right here, right now.

"Do it." She repeated, eyes like ice. He didn't move. "What's the matter? Can't? Spikey's lost his nerve, is that it? Can beat the chip enough to attack a regular human, but can't get it up to take on the Slayer?" She didn't know.

"Buffy, that's enough." The Watcher, voice quiet in the silence.

"Oh, I don't think so Giles." The Slayer did not take her eyes off her target, her prey. Spike could not take his eyes from hers. She meant it and he was trapped like a fly in her thrall. A part of her, the part that sparked this strange new light in her eyes, that lethal come-hither, meant every word: if he tried it on now only one of them would walk away.

A rich dark rumbling, thundering growl began to rise up from so deep inside it had to be coming from somewhere around his boots.

There was a swelling pressure in his chest too. It blossomed and exploded forth from the vague sensations he had felt before: no more sharks fin – here comes bitey! He hadn't felt like this in an age.

She wanted it – finally she wanted it. And so did he.

"Come on Spike. Do your worst. Make it three for three."

Calm.

Still.

Quiet.

The whole world smothered in a thick quilt of silence. Reaching out to every curve and tucking around all the edges with thick silenty-type hospital corners, she and everything that was, was held down in a strange tranquil fugue.

Dawn looked around the large, gloomy cavern she was somehow in, without having to move her head. Into every nook and cranny her senses probed: every dark little hole, every shadow. And it wasn't the least surprising to find that she could suddenly see everything like it was daylight. Or that she could see 360, like all at once. Didn't seem at all odd. Didn't seem at all odd either that the horrible demon thingies that had so terrified her now seemed as harmless as garden gnomes. They pressed in on all sides, huge blank eyes fixed on her, bodies poised in frozen crouches, teeth bared, but not scary at all. It all felt kind of OK really; kinda normal. She guessed that she should be creeped out by them and by her total coolness (despite living on a hellmouth for months now), but she didn't feel that either.

Kinda didn't feel anything at all.

So she just stayed where she was, feeling no impetuous to move, no need to do anything other that just be. Time passed and she didn't get bored or antsy; didn't feel like checking out what was on TV, or what new earrings Buffy had bought and thought she had well hidden. Didn't feel like anything except hovering here in her serene Egyptian-mummy weirdness.

Time passed. It meant nothing.

…..

…..

Then she was moving. Just like that. Drawn along like a fish on a hook, gliding through the still air towards-? Didn't seem to matter. Things were out of her control, out of her understanding and beyond her capacity to care. She watched the demon pack part and let her through their midst: all royal courtier-like, bowing to their queen as she passed by. Dawn looked down at them with placid disinterest. They held no fascination for her now, not with her purpose lying elsewhere than this silent washed-out place. Her purpose…

Her purpose? Where had that come from?

She floated on. Leaving the chamber she watched, without turning her head, as her attentive courtiers receded behind her, melting into the dark. When they were gone her attention, such as it was, drifted back to what was coming ahead. In front of her stretched a long, curvy, steeply descending corridor of rock and earth. There was the scent of old, damp earth in the air. Its coolness wafted around her, through her, and she blended into it. She watched the corridor wind and twist, like watching a documentary with the mute button on.

After a while it straightened and then opened out. She floated on, still on the line, and emerged into another cavern. Only this one was larger than the other one, much larger, with a ceiling so high her new powers of sight could not see it, and a breadth so vast she could not make out the other side.

Below her the ground gave way to a deep blackness that she knew, even though she couldn't quite see for sure, was somehow other than the solid ground of the other chamber. Whispers floated up from it. She let the sounds waft through her and did not try to grasp their meanings. Some how she knew they were talking about her, around her, in spite of her, but that she was not meant to be taking part. That was ok though. She was ok with that.

She moved on.

The voices grew louder. Rippling up from beneath her, and now coming from ahead. And suddenly their timbre grew darker, sharper, and more intent; still talking all about _her_. But not in a good way, or even a 'whatever' way. Something like fear began to grow in her belly. Suddenly this whole deal was beginning to feel bad. Like walking down a darkened alley and reaching that moment of knowing, just _knowing_ , that it had been a bad choice; that you had made a terrible, horrible mistake taking that short cut and that he, _it_ , was now after you. And gaining. And no matter how hard you ran now, how much you regretted what you'd done, there was no going back. No safe place to run to. Nowhere to hide.

 _OK, starting to wig-_

And then she was going down. Down into the liquid dark and toward the not quite solid ground beneath. Down into something bad, something malevolent, something horribly evil that meant her harm. Her alarm grew as she neared the surface, but she was held fast in that weird embrace. Couldn't move. Couldn't feel her legs or her arms. Did she even have any limbs anymore?

Buffy!

Lower.

The whispers grew. And the air, that cool breezy air, started to change. Condensing like a mirage over a summer highway: ripply and shimmery. But this mirage wasn't hot; it was cool and getting cooler. And it stunk: like rotten egg gas. Like Buffy sometimes did when she got back from sewer patrol. Dawn wrinkled her nose, or at least she would have if she had had a nose anymore!

BUFFY!

"... _Sanguisa_..."

Who said that? The glassy whisper suddenly made itself audible above the muttering dark. And still she sank lower. The air writhed. Squirming. Shuddering. Stinking and sour now, and totally just blergh.

"…. _Odisse_ …"

Another whisper. Scraping along her, through her, like a sharp knife now, or a claw. It hooked her, spearing its rough spiny grip into the very essence of her. She strained against the horribly invasive pain, but it only set itself harder. Purposeful now, dragging her down faster and faster to, to… _Fulfil her_ _purpose_. There it was again: her purpose? Only this time she didn't feel nothing about it. This time it hurt. It really hurt. More than like breaking her wrist, more than accidentally cutting herself with the steak knife and more than she thought she could bear. And still she sank lower and lower.

She tried to scream.

Nothing came out. Not a peep.

Lower. Into pain and terror and dread. She couldn't keep on going. She couldn't bare it. Desperately she tried to twist free. The thing, the whisper, that had her hooked her harder, held her more tightly, but she didn't stop. Ignoring the searing pain and the horrible agonized air that thrashed around her, she pulled and twisted and screamed and cried out for Buffy, for Mom-

Dawn awoke with a shriek knotted in her throat, jaws clenched tight and the up close and personal flash of Spike crouching over her in full game face - demon eyes and razor fangs, an inch from her nose. Phew. Spike. What a frigging relief!

She remembered the strange conviction she had experienced back in the demon-gnome chamber, the simple knowing that had washed over her when she had called for him to help her and then again when she wanted to bring Spike back from his vamp-rage. (Warmth spread through her chest at the memory of that moment when his golden eyes had shifted back to their sexy blue, at the simple touch of her hand.) Now here he was, once again responding to her and rushing like some knight on a white charger to save her again. And this time she hadn't even needed to call out loud. She had never guessed that their level of connection ran that deep, even when he'd called her his princess.

Buffy was wrong about Spike - he didn't want to hurt or kill her, he just plain _wanted_ her. No. No way did Spike want to hurt her. Hey, it was _Giles_ back in the chamber that had freaked out and grabbed her, not Spike, and yet Buffy didn't warn him off. It had been Spike to rescue her too, not Buffy. She had called and he had just kicked Giles' butt. OK, maybe slight exaggeration, but just for a second she had wanted the chip gone, and he could have… What? Well, maybe freaked out the Dynamic Duo, just a little, just a tiny little bit. And then maybe kissed her like a hoover, right in front of Buffy.

But he could never really do that because Buffy would kick his butt. And Giles would too. Just 'cause they could. Man, Buffy was such a hypocrite. Why was it fine and dandy for _The Slayer_ to have an Undead boyfriend, while she couldn't? It wasn't fair.

Now, she reached out to touch Spike's cheek for the second time that night, but he was suddenly spinning away from her so fast she felt immediately dizzy and disoriented again. And the horrible aftermath of the nightmare made itself known. Every bone in her body ached, every muscle felt like stone from being clenched too tight for too long, and sweat stuck every bit of clothing fast to her skin. She blinked and when she opened her eyes again it was to see Spike, but this time it was to see him savagely slapping at the new guy (Eddie?) and sending him whirling into the wall.

"SPIKE!" She let the shriek out.

"SPIKE!" Giles.

"SPIKE!" Buffy.

"FUCK!" Spike.

Ethan said nothing, but he was awake now and braced against the wall ready to run or fight. Anita went straight to Eddie, rushing like a mother to her chick. _Mom._ Dawn felt her fear mount as Spike and Buffy started fighting – really fighting like they really meant it. _Mom, Mom, Mom!_ Buffy snapped at Spike, he screamed back, she hit him, he sprang back at her like some kind of wild beast, Giles tried to intervene-

And then it all went to hell.

Spike roared. Really roared. Like a frigging lion: fangs bared and yellow eyes mad with a singular intent purpose that had no higher function than hunt, kill, feed. This wasn't right – that wasn't Spike. It was a thing. A wild, malevolent _thing_ like Buffy slew night after night and washed out of her hair when she got home.

What was happening?

Her sister, at least it looked like her sister, surged up to meet this Spike-thing half way. She didn't roar or scream or sprout fangs but she was changed also. Sharply cut, like someone had just cranked up the resolution, she shone with a fire that was not of the normal, not even of the normal Buffy: vampire slayer. It was beautiful, but it was terrible. The brilliant burn that seemed to explode forth from her like a volcanic eruption was not the kind of noble light that you'd expect to come from a super hero. It was cold, unkind and fierce and was focussed completely with murderous intensity upon her enemy, upon Spike. It was a wild stranger in her sister's skin. Someone, some _thing_ perhaps, that would trample her without thought or hesitation if she got in the way.

Dawn stared and was consumed with a bone-deep terror that completely subsumed her nightmare and then some. Tears built up her throat. _Don't want to be here, I wanna be at hoooome._

"BUFFY!" Giles. _Oh thank god, Giles will fix it._ Dawn couldn't move but she saw the Watcher lunge in from her left and try to come between Buffy and Spike. "Stop this at once. Bloody hell, I have had enough of this shit! If you two are going to kill each other then just fucking get on with it: I've got better things to do than ponce about down here watching you scrap over every little thing." Then he did something that Dawn had never seen him do – he pushed Spike away from Buffy so hard the vamp went tumbling away, skidding up on his shoulders on the sandy floor. "Just you fuck off, orright." He stared at what he'd done then, for a second, face shifting from surprise to concern to horror and then Spike was back on his feet smiling a gleefully wicked smile that reeked of blood lust.

He attacked. _Oh my god he's fighting them – what about the chip?_

Dawn shrieked as the three connected and the tunnel filled with snarling, fighting, violent sound and movement. She scrambled up against the wall; Spike's coat falling free from her shoulders, and then took off on all fours towards Anita, Eddie and Ethan. Terror ran down her cheeks in two dripping streams and she heard herself blubbering uncontrollably. Her vision blurred grey. _Wannagohome, wannagohome, wannagohome-_

"Dawn." Anita's voice and then her hands pulled Dawn across the floor. The young girl reached out and latched on to the arms and then the embrace for all she was worth. All four of the still sane bunch huddled deeper into the tunnel, staring at what had become of their friends.

"Ethan- " Anita's voice was sharp and slicing. Ethan looked at her and shook his head.

"This shouldn't be happening." He yelled above the din. Dawn ripped her eyes from the incredible churning melee that was all that was left of Buffy, Spike and Giles, glanced at Ethan and felt herself tense anew. The new guy's lean face didn't look right. Shouldn't he be freaking out with everyone else?

"Well it is!" Anita yelled back. "You have to do something – now. They are going to kill each other!"

CLANG! Buffy's sword hit the rock wall so hard the blade snapped free. She threw the hilt aside as Spike attacked. She put a fist into his face. It snapped his head to the side. The Slayer didn't wait for him to recover, but threw the vampire up against the wall. He bounced off it and ducked Giles' fist, coming in low to grab the Watcher around the knees taking them both to the ground.

"Alright, alright." Ethan held up a hand. "This shouldn't be happening though so I'm not sure just what you expect me to do about it."

Buffy pulled Spike off her Watcher. The Englishman snarled.

"Dammit Ethan, surely even you can see it. Just look at them: the Hellmouth has caught up with us. I can see it, like blood and fire and hate all around them, inside them. Use the protection magicks - now!"

"Annie, maybe you didn't understand me: the blocking magicks are still working! I can feel it. I can't layer the incantations; you know what happens if I do!"

"What the hell is it then?" Anita bit her lip, staring at the fight, and Dawn felt her muscles bunching and then relaxing and then bunching again, as they were pressed together in the narrow tunnel. As if she was going to -

"Oh no you don't, Annie." Ethan grabbed the woman's arm. "Not again. You go out there now and you won't last to reach him, let alone bring him back. We'll have to think of something else."

Spike rumbled. Buffy threw a chunk of wall (!) at him as Giles clawed his way to his feet.

"What else? Ethan we've got nothing else." Anita pulled Ethan's hand away from her arm. She suddenly stared at him. "No. Don't you dare even think that! Ethan: no." Huh?

"Bloody hell woman, what else is there? We go in there and we die. We stay and who's to say that we won't be next on the menu."

"No, we are not leaving them here like this. I won't leave them Ethan, and neither will you." She was suddenly in his face, grabbing _him_ by the arms and holding _him_ captive. "Don't make me make you stay." That took the wind out Ethan's angry sails. He stared into Anita's eyes, his face suddenly wary, and eyes suddenly a bit rounder, darker. He smiled a tiny smile, and there was a touch of resignation there. Then a sudden lull in the fight interrupted them all and drew their attention back down the tunnel.

Giles and Buffy had Spike cornered in a shallow curve in the wall. The blond vampire was covered in blood, but wired and electrified to a degree that left the goblin-chamber experience for dead. He swiped at Buffy, chuffing through his fangs in a warped cackle of pure delight. And for the first time ever Dawn was afraid of him.

There was nothing in this savage, twisted face that she recognized despite the fact that she had called for and unleashed it. And now he was in a fight with Buffy because of it. But then he had gone and hurt Eddie for no reason and was beating on Buffy and Giles with such viciousness that Dawn was seriously terrified.

This was the face of a _vampire_ : a for-real psycho-crazy, animal-thing. This was _not_ her guy. This was not the Spike she flirted with, that she confided in, discussed nail polish with, plotted and conspired with, or who was teaching her to play cards, the 'right-and-proper way'.

So, instead of fixing it, making him come back from his fang-face, she simply sat where she was, scared stiff, watching as Spike tried to break out of the corral he was in, but get slammed against the wall. His grin was crazed.

 _Oh god, Spike…_

"There is something I can try, but you will have to help." Ethan was saying to Anita, voice calm and measured, resigned even.

"Anything." Anita nodded.

"Anything… Right. Anything for-" He shook his head. "I'll deal with the vampire. You go for Ripper – see what you can do there. Hopefully, if you can get through to him, he will be able to deal with the Slayer."

"What are you going to do?"

"Something stupid of course."

"Hey, what about me?" Dawn interrupted, and then remembered Eddie. "I mean: us. What about us? What do we do? This is all my fault and" _I have to fix this, to save Buffy,_ "and… and that's my sister out there!" Anita started suddenly, as if she had forgotten that there were four, not two, of them hiding back here.

"You two stay here." She finally said and held a hand up to quell protest. It didn't stop Eddie though. He had uncoiled from his protective ball and was now just holding his hand to his belly.

"M-Ms Snow." He said, voice trembling, tone more than a little freaked ( _and boy Dawn could so relate)_ , but he persisted. "You will need help. If I understand correctly, Mr Rayne is going to need all his focus for the vampire, and you will need to see to Mr Giles. I-If I may say: at least for a minute you are going to need the Slayer distracted-"

"Yeah, and I can so distract Buffy. Years of practice and-" Dawn interjected urgently.

"And I am equipped to provide that support." Eddie ignored her.

"HEY!" Dawn protested. "You are so not the only one _equipped_. No, no. You want equipped? Well, I've got huge equipment, huge- Ok, so that came out wrong, but-"

"Alright Edward, if you feel up to it. There is no more time: let's go." And Anita turned away, followed by Ethan and a beat later by equipment-boy. They all went for the untiring trio still scrabbling in the dirt. Buffy screeched as Spike landed a punch in Giles' belly. _Ooow!_ Dawn forgot her terror and guilt, and fell once again to silence, staring.

With a surprisingly nimble move, Ethan Rayne, yelling out something voodoo, went straight for Spike and took him down in a tackle. Giles looked up from the ground, shocked by the interruption, in time to see Anita bearing down on him. Buffy bawled out her severe pissed-off-edness as she witnessed what must have looked like her Watcher's last moments. Forgetting Spike she went straight for her Watcher. And Eddie? Well the plucky little guy went straight for the Slayer, just like he promised, coming in between her and her target. Hands up, poised like some really badly acted Kung Fu movie, he made a "HUH!" sound, and was promptly swept aside like a twig. Buffy went in for the kill.

"BUFFY!" Dawn screamed. She launched herself forward, forgetting her fear. She reached her sister at the same time as Buffy reached Anita where she was struggling with Giles, calling out his name. Dawn grabbed for her sister's shoulders and pulled. Oh my god, Buffy was like iron: she did not even seem to feel the impact, but Dawn did. She hit hard and bounced onto the ground. Buffy reached for Anita's neck. NO! Dawn grabbed at her sister's ankles and hung on. "BUFFY STOP! PLEASE STOP! DON'T GO AWAY LIKE SPIKE! BUFFY!"

And her sister stopped. Dawn looked up, a relieved smile breaking out over her face. But it wasn't over and the Slayer, _the Slayer_ , reached down to grab at the tangle of limbs around her ankles. Dawn had time to squeal, as she was ripped free and sent sailing through the air. She also had time to see the wall coming up to meet her, before she slammed into it.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

"Rupert!" Anita had a solid grip on her lover's burning face, all her weight on his prone form, and every bit of power that she had focussed on him, but it did not seem to be enough. His churning, thrashing aura was streaked with a cancerous, gangrenous, blackness that was spreading its sickly tentacles faster and faster. She was losing him. Losing him to the power of the Slay, to the Hellmouth and its corruption. He suddenly bucked up underneath her, roaring something filthy. "RUPERT STOP FIGHTING ME!" She cried out in desperation, struggling to stay atop. If he heard her he did not react to her plea, but instead grabbed at her forearms and slid his hands downward to grab at her wrists, to pull her away.

 _Oh no you don't – hear me. Hear me baby, hear me._

Annie had never been shy about her abilities; never shrank from them, or tried to hide their degree, but equally she had never tried to actively seek out their true extent – not like this. Not to attack, not in an effort to enforce her will like the Slayer wielded her sword, her stake. She had never had cause, until now, but _now_ she didn't know if she had enough left in her to make the attempt. Rupert snarled, and his grip on her wrists suddenly became crushing. She couldn't hold on for long.

It was now or never.

 _Always wanted to know how the Slay felt for you Ru. Always wanted you to let me in, let me learn about it. Guess now I'm going to. Forgive me._

Heart hammering in her chest, head light with a fresh burst of adrenaline, Anita found out the hazel eyes she knew so well. Met their wild ferocity without flinching, saw the madness churning in their in their depths, and without hesitation dove in.

Power.

Rage.

Hunger.

It was a whirling frenzy of ecstasy, fury, colour and heat that scalded and tore at her; shredded at her protective shields with an energy, a single minded purpose, that was terrifying. This Thing, this Calling, though it was part of this man that loved her also wanted her dead. _Intruder_ , it spoke to her in its own unique language of heat and rage, _intruder; get rid of it, kill it. Slay it. Slay. Slayer. Slayer? Where is my Slayer? WHERE IS SHE? WHERE!_ The roaring demands pierced her in a thousand places. Sharp slices against her skin, her innards, her soul. In her mind she saw blood, her blood, billowing out in plumes of red; trailing out and into the churning whirlpool. Until all the world was described in shades of scarlet. She heard his laugh, sharply cut like a hyena around a kill. And she screamed.

 _Oh god, what have I done? RUPERT!_

There was no reply, but she felt him all around her: a menacing, circling predator that had suddenly smelled her weakness where poor blinded-Rupert had not. But now, corrupted by the Hellmouth this Watcher had lost his discrimination and weakness was weakness and an easier kill – demon prey or no. He was going to kill, to Slay, and there was nothing she could do about it. She was outmatched and they both knew it.

But then what of this man she loved?

If he survived this and she did not, and at his hand? What then? She knew the answer to that without even thinking and she could not bear it. But she also could not stop it from happening. He was too strong, too crazed and too filled with something that spoke no language she could contend with, for her to reach him now.

She had failed.

But the yawning depth of that failure ran far deeper than that, and far deeper than Rupert would ever know, for she had also failed to find the courage to tell him the most important thing of all: why she had come to Sunnydale. And in so doing, she had not explained to him why she had emerged at last from the binding shadows that had kept and preserved her from the cruelty of time; and why, knowing that in surfacing this would be her final journey, she had taken it anyway because she could wait no longer to go to him.

He would never know any of this, because she had not told him and she would not be there to correct him when he blamed himself for what this foul place was about to be responsible for; despite the fact that it would merely be responsible for reducing her time with him by hours, not years. That, perhaps in reality even the Hellmouth was going to be less responsible for her death than the poisonous, cancerous mass, for many years kept from spreading through the talent of her sisters, that was once again spreading through her body.

But, he would never know unless …

 _"Why are you trying to kill yourself?" Her hand grasps his chin so tightly that he cannot force his aching head back to the floor. He does try though, which gives her heart, until he realises it's too late, and instead opens his eyes to glare blearily upward –_

 _"Fuck off Annie and leave me alone." His voice sounds like ashes, and the fine scarlet fog of his aura has become arterial-dark, boiling and writhing around her hand, her wrist. The pain of its touch burns her, but to make her point she keeps her grip tight on his chin._

 _"No." She says. And waits for the inevitable. After all, she has come here for a fight and knows just how to get one. His bloodshot, red-rimmed eyes open fully for the first time and the bleak glare warms into real anger. Here it comes._

 _"Go. Away."_

 _"No." She says again and watches the aura sizzle. Then, with a sound somewhere between a choke and a growl he suddenly moves, whisky-heavy limbs coming up to slap at her clutching hand, and then braces himself so that he is suddenly up on his knees._

 _"That's better, now I can talk to you properly. Face to face."_

 _"I don't want to talk. I want to be left alone. What part of that concept don't you understand?" He wobbles backwards to sit on his heels. One hand wipes at his face, then across his filthy shirt. He looks dazed, but she is not fooled. This was how he looked after_ it _had happened and he had still been capable of knocking Ethan's teeth loose when the man had suggested disposing of_ the body _in the Thames. "I don't want to talk to anyone about anything. There's nothing to say!"_

 _"I think there is. I think that there is a hell of a lot to say, to talk about-"_

 _"Annie, don't."_

 _"Don't? Don't what? Don't mention it and it will all go away, is that what this is all about? Stick your head in a bottle and everything will go back to the way it was before-"_

 _"No!" He says, explosively and heaves to his feet._

"Really? Because that's how it looks from here." He ignores her, staggers to the other side of the room, and starts rummaging through the empties that are stacked all over the sink. The clink of bottles is loud in the silence. She waits for him to respond, trying to find any changes in the dark red swirling fog that smudges him head to toe, but the aura remains unchanged. So instead, she looks at the man and feels her fierce resolve begin to waver.

 _He looks terrible. It has been a mere handful of days since Gerald died, hideously and at their hands. All of them trying and failing to bring him back, before having to resort to murder to defend themselves from Eyghon, his possessor (poor Gerald). Only a few days since the death and already Rupert looks halfway there himself. He hasn't shaved, or changed clothes, and he reeks of whisky and sweat. And tears. Poor Rupert too._

Pity on all of us. All of us damned, through and through.

Pity on us all…

Then she sees his shoulders shaking in tiny tremors and starts to relax. His aura pulses with so much emotion she can read nothing except the raw size of it. Its a good sign, and faster than she'd hoped, but its one that tears at her too, so she hurries across the room and slips her arms around him from behind. Rests her cheek against his back. "Oh Rupert-"

"NO!" The explosive shattering of glass is shocking, as is his sudden explosion of movement. He pushes away from the sink, sending her sprawling onto her back on the floor, winded. Before she can recover herself he is upon her, all of his weight pinning her to the ground. His hands land around her throat, but not squeezing. Not yet. Oh god…

"I SAID NO! NO, no, no, no, no, no, NO!" He's roaring, spitting in her face, less than an inch from her, aura churning, thrashing and she realises with horror that what she had taken for tears had been anger; a rage that had so utterly consumed him that he had shaken from it. And now- "Why won't you leave me alone. God damn it! Don't you know…"

"Rupert," she interrupts, knowing full well that she does not have a moment to lose. "I do know. I do. You think this was all your fault, but it wasn't. Gerald knew what he was doing as well as any of us. It wasn't your fault. I know you feel it was - " He interrupts her with a sudden hard bark of laughter and she freezes.

"Fault?" His face is twisted in a laugh that boarders on the hysterical. "This is not about fault. Who cares about fucking fault? We're all of us right royally damned for what we did, but fault?" He laughs again and his aura ripples in shudders, discordant tears and jagged reefs of blood and ochre run through it, tearing at her and terrifying her.

"Rupert." Her voice is husky and weak, conscious as she is of his hands not quite pressing over her throat, but it refocusses his attention. He stares down at her.

"Get out." He says it flatly, as devoid of feeling as he had been full of it mere seconds ago. His aura is suddenly still and calm. She doesn't move. Neither does he. This is it, the eye of the storm, she can feel it. Whichever way this is to go, what happens next will decide it. She only hopes her dice are lucky…

"No." She says once again and he stares at her. She stares back. "No." She says it again, willing all of her determination, all of her love, into that one word. Kill me or let me up, Ru, but either way I am not leaving this room without you. They stare at each other and she waits.

"If it's not about fault, then tell me what it is about." She says after a minute of nothing. He continues to stare, still on top of her, hands still locked around her throat. Had he even heard her? She looks deeper into his eyes and wonders if he is seeing her at all in this moment.

"All right, if you want to talk then answer me this question: if I kill you, right here and now, will I enjoy it?

"I enjoyed Gerald, so would I also enjoy you?" He frames the statement in a question, but she doesn't answer because he isn't really asking. "I don't think I would, but then I didn't imagine that I'd get such a high from old Gerry either. Until I heard his neck snap that is. Wasn't all that much fun you see, until then, but when those bones crunched and he just seized up like he was having a fit, did you see it? It was beautiful. I can't remember ever having gotten so hot over anything before in my entire life. All I could think about was doing it again, and again and again." He stops then, and she can feel the effects the memory is having on him; sees his aura flare and flash as she has only ever seen it when he has been rambling around the city blitzing Nests with Ethan and Co. She can see the hatred that stains it too, stabbing cruelly into the heart of him.

And the realisation hits her like a frigid blast of air.

"Rupert." She carefully brings her hands up to frame his face. "Ru, its all right." She kisses his lips. "Its all ok. Listen to me now, listen." But he isn't, he's shaking his head. "You asked me a question, Ru, so hear my answer. Would you enjoy killing me? Do I really need to answer that?

"Look at yourself. Now. Look at what you're doing to yourself: is this the behaviour of a man who enjoys killing like you say you do.

"Ru, you are not responsible for what you carry inside you, your Heritage."

"I- I can control it-"

"Can you, could anyone entirely control it? Has any other? You say this isn't about fault and you are right, but that includes you too. Shush, no, it does – let me show you. Tell me what you saw, what you felt, when we were raising Eyghon?" She watches him squeeze his eyes shut. He says nothing for a long time, but then it all comes out in a wash of shame.

"I felt, alive." His voice is so hushed she almost can't hear him. Self-hatred drips from every forced word. "I wanted the rush of the possession, but I also wanted to take it on. I wanted to hunt it down, regardless of who it had hold of and…" He trails off and stops.

"You told me once, that you were different Ru. You've told me bits and pieces since, and I've seen you when you and the others have gone to play chicken with all sorts of nasty beasts. I've seen you pull Ethan out of Nests he might have died in. And yes, I've seen you kill, Ru. I've seen you kill vampires, demons and the like, but I know that you would never harm a person, let alone a friend, like that. Not for a thrill.

"Remember the Walk of Death Ru? Remember that night? You could have done as you wished to me that night and I couldn't have stopped you, but you stopped yourself. Didn't you.

"You didn't want to kill Gerald either, Ru, you were after Eyghon, you know you were. No one could have saved Gerry, but you did stop Eyghon from taking the rest of us. You saved our lives."

"No, I-"

"Shush, you know I'm right. Use that Oxford brain of yours."

"Oh no Annie. Oh no. What have we done? What's happening, what's happening?" His hands disappear from around her throat and suddenly she has her arms full of the man she knows. His tears seep straight through her shirt.

What was happening? What was happening was the ending. The end of the world. He had to go back. He had to or next time it would be worse, for him, for everyone. He had to return and reclaim what he had lost, take back his birthright, and in it find his purpose and his salvation.

She only wished it was that simple for the rest of them. She only wished she could stay with him…

"TILEA!" Giles came out of the roaring red gale in an explosive rush. He burst free, senses still ringing and blood still boiling with the gorgeous brilliance of the Slay, back into the 'real' world, and screamed. The shocking grief of the transition was too much to hold inside.

His head was pounding too, ears ringing, heart racing, and soul shaking with the shock of his expulsion back into the tunnel: this disgusting, smothering, foul-tasting, dull and insipid burrow of dank earth. He wanted to be sick. Just roll over and heave-to, but he was so weak he just lay their taking in large, fast lungfuls of tepid air and baring his teeth at the ripe decay of the mortality that surrounded him once again. Yes, he could still smell the sharp, clean stink of vampire and the death that came with it, but the flaming pleasure of its presence was fast collapsing in on itself, disappearing into the blackhole void inside him. So he just lay there, reeling, and dumb with shock.

But the low feelings did not last and slowly he was back, really back, once again.

What an unbelievable dream that had been. Possibly the most shamefully exhilarating experience he had had in years, and so insanely real he was going to be feeling it for days. And there was at least one person nearby who would have seen him have it. Oh bloody hell, how embarrassing. Ah well, at least he hadn't dreamed her into it. Nodding off like an old man was going to be hard enough to live down without those knowing, teasing looks haunting him all the way back out of the tunnels.

Perhaps, hopefully, in the raucous chatter going on all around him she had missed it…

But Tilea, why had he called for Tilea when he had been dreaming of the Slay? Why think of Tilea when he was- Oh god, Tilea! It all came back with a rush. Ethan's smirk, the Muttune't, Spike and Dawn, racing through the tunnels, Buffy, Annie and Frost. FROST! Frost. That was it! So, there was more recorded from Tilea's venture than he had been told by the Council. They did have at least some of the written records of the below ground search, which meant that the hapless detective had made it out alive. He had returned to the Council too, and they knew far more than they had let on. It made no sense why they had withheld it all, damn them, but their boy-soldier had unwittingly brought it all down here anyway. And now Giles was going to have it, all of it, every last detail. At last.

The Watcher took a few moments to curse himself though. He was an idiot not to have registered Frost's blather earlier, before the muttune't had arrived. They perhaps could have avoided all this unpleasantness and he could be, at this minute, booking a flight home to punch Knightly's lights out. Oh, you really are getting old Ripper, my son.

Now, where was that stupid boy?

Giles heaved himself up onto his elbow and rolled over straight into a soft shape. Ah ha, so he was not the only one to have age catching up with him. He pushed up to peer over Annie's shoulder and into her sleeping face. Caught out! Ha ha! Caught-

…..

Annie wasn't sleeping. Her eyes were open, staring across the tunnel, but she wasn't awake either. Oh my god. Annie wasn't sleeping. She wasn't awake. Not asleep, not awake. Not asleep, not awake. Not asleep, not awake. Not asleep, not awake-

"Mr Giles!"

 _This is not happening._

"MR GILES. SIR!"

 _Not asleep, not awake._

She was unconscious. He had seen people out cold, staring like that, before. He had. He had. Many times before. Not uncommon. _Not asleep, not awake._ His dumb eyes just couldn't see it like he usually could. That was all. He reached out a hand to touch her lips, feel for her steady breath, but stopped when he saw the blood: a tiny smear of red on her lower lip and a little more on her teeth, from where she must have bitten herself. Tiny little bead of blood for such a wound. Tiny. As if the blood had not the means by which to flow and –

….

….

"Oh god, Annie." Somehow he was on his knees. Somehow he had taken her quiet face in his hands. Somehow he had found his voice. "Oh no, no, no, no. Oh god, no. Please don't die, don't die, not like this… Not like this-" _Annie, can you hear me? Annie? What's happened? Say something love, I can't hear you. I can't see. Help me._ He stared, but could not find her. _Help me, I don't understand._

Oh no. No, no, no, no-

"Annie!" _This is not happening. Wake up Annie, and tell me what to do!_

"MR GILES! SIR, PLEASE - " Edward's shrill cry suddenly, inexplicably, registered. And with it, the rest of the world poured back into the silence, filling it, not with the loud chatter he had supposed, but with the sounds of violence. He looked up.

Edward Frost, ruffled and bloodied, stood between Buffy and Dawn, facing down the former with nothing but his pencil, whilst the latter lay dazed on the ground behind him. The young would-be councillor had the tiny instrument in a slashing grip in one hand, whilst the other made strange karate motions at the Slayer (who was gathering to spring, muscles tensing). It was in point of fact, the most utterly ridiculous sight Giles had ever seen in his entire life, but it suddenly took his total attention. _I can do this, I know what's to be done here, and I can fix this._

"BUFFY SUMMERS!" He rose to his full height as he called across the narrow space, putting all his strength into the command. She whirled around instantly, but that was where her response ended. Oh dear god. His charge, or what was left of her, was wild with a raw dark energy that was almost unrecognisable, such was its degree. The Slay. This was it. Fuelled by the Hellmouth, its intensity, its totality, was simply terrifying – and he froze. How the hell did this happen? Ethan-

"What the fucking hell is going on!" Spike suddenly bellowed and Giles jumped, startled. His surprise was all the incentive the Slayer appeared to need, for she came at him so hard and so fast he was thrown into the tunnel wall, slamming into it so that all the air was knocked from his lungs. He went down. She sprang again. This time landing over his chest, straddling him in an uncanny repeat of Spike's bedchamber, not much more than a week ago. She snarled, green eyes almost black. He imagined that this was much how her aura must appear, and despaired.

"Buffy!" He wheezed, completely stunned and unable to move, let alone put up even a token resistance or find the capacity to reach out and save her. Her hands, curled into the talons he had felt before, went straight for his neck.

"Buffy!" Dawn. The young girl's shriek was piercing, but did nothing to stop her sister's determined efforts to kill him. There was nothing called Buffy here anymore, he realised, and there was nothing to be gained by appealing to that name. This was The Slayer, but this was also wrong. This was The Hellmouth's Slayer, not the World's, not Sunnydale's and certainly not his. This Slayer had no sister, no family, no Watcher, and no discretion. Then she squeezed down and he was choking.

"Spike." Dawn again, her voice echoing tinnily in his ears. Somehow he found the strength to raise his hands to his neck and grab at the crushing grip locked there. Blackness tinged the edges of his vision. "Do something! SPIKE!" Suddenly there was a commotion, a thrashing above him and he thought he heard Buffy scream, but it might have been the cool dark rushing roar that was suddenly filling his ears.

Black. Quiet.

 _Annie?_

Then suddenly there was air. Beautiful, stale, fetid air. It poured and rushed into his mouth in a sweet violent flood. Not thinking further than that, he desperately sucked it down. And now voices. Screaming, yelling voices, and the scraping, rushing, thumping aural carnage of total panic crashed into his senses, tearing the quiet apart once again. He coughed, and tried to roll over, but suddenly she was back, and they slammed together again right beside Annie. Not an inch away from her. But the Slayer did not even turn nor glance aside. Which meant that she knew what was there, which meant that-

"Oh my god, what have you done?" His voice crackled through bruised vocal cords. No. Buffy had… He, they, had…? No, not that, never that… But he knew. He knew what had happened and he couldn't look away. His dream had been no dream after all. The beautiful terror that he had burst from had been real. He remembered. He remembered, and he went mad with it.

Dawn had her back to the wall when Buffy finally threw Spike aside and went back after Giles. She had a fast grip on a jutting piece of it too, clamped on so hard she could not feel her fingertips. Panic and terror had frozen her there and she could not move. Annie, Annie was dead. Dead, like in for real and total. Lying there, twisted onto her side and staring at the wall. Not moving dead. And who had done this thing? Buffy? Giles? Either option was too much to think about and couldn't be real. It just couldn't be.

Then Giles said something to Buffy, where they lay twisted together on the ground, and they both froze, but only for a moment and then the Watcher roared. Just like totally screamed, bellowed and tore the air apart, filling the cramped tunnel with such unimaginable grief and rage that Dawn found herself joining in. She felt burst open, torn apart and broken.

"Dawn!" It was Spike. Coming to her aid once again. _Bastard! Too late, too late. You did this, you started it! You shouldn't have hit Eddie!_ She flailed out at him, felt her fists connect with cool flesh, then concrete strong arms grabbed at her, pinning her fast. She shut her eyes and screamed again, struggling for all she was worth. "Dawn, stop it!

"Here, you, take her out of here!" Spike yelled above the din. She opened her eyes to see that creepy guy, Ethan, standing white faced by the far wall, near where they had entered. He was staring at Annie, not moving, face as pale as Spike's and eyes as black as if the vampire had punched him. "You! ETHAN!" Spike called out again. She heard Buffy and Giles screaming and fighting behind the vampire's back. She struggled harder. "ETHAN! You fucking prick, look at me! For fuck's sake!" And then Ethan was obeying. He did not move, though. And he looked as strange as he had when Buffy, Spike and Giles had first started fighting, but this time the puzzle pieces fit together in Dawn's mind with a sickening snap.

"YOU!" She screamed across the tunnel. "YOU DID THIS! WHAT DID YOU DO TO THEM? WHAT DID YOU DO?" Spike froze, no longer trying to hold her to him, but before she could get out from his arms he was pushing her away, back into the wall and in to Eddie. She looked up in time to see him looking down at her, really looking at her for the first time in what seemed forever, and then vamping out, the liquid shift from human to demon happening so violently it looked painful. Eddie started against her, his hands clamping down upon her shoulders.

"Fix it." Spike turned to Ethan, his voice, rasping through his fangs, sounding as inhuman as a snake's. His lips peeled back over diamond sharp fangs. "Fix it you _fuck_!" Ethan doesn't move and the Watcher and Slayer are shredding each other, and Annie is still dead. He's not going to help them, she can see it.

"Kill him!" Dawn called out, commanding her vampire. "Spike, if he won't help us then kill him and break the spell." Spike rumbled and it sounded like vampire for "yesssss!"

But then Ethan was moving after all, his hands were fluttering around in front of him and his lips were moving. She couldn't hear what he was saying above the din, but her threat had worked so-

Spike suddenly shook his head - abrupt and violent, like a dog with water in his ears. He jerked as if stung. And then he was looking at Buffy and Giles, where they had moved across the tunnel. They too started, as if shocked. Then Spike growled and Dawn looked back to see him looking at her. As if she was lunch.

"Ethan!" She called out, but he was already on his way out of the tunnel. Spike turned back. Oh my god. "Spike. Spike, what are you doing?" But she already knew and it was already too late. He sprang forward.

Straight into Eddie. The little guy was suddenly there, in front of her, rushing up to meet vampire-Spike halfway. "RUN!" He called out to her. "RUN, RUN!" But she couldn't, there was a wall of rock behind her, Spike to her right and Buffy and Giles to her left. She was blocked in, nowhere to go. All she could do was watch.

Eddie was no match for Spike, but he landed one good solid punch to the vampire's nose before Spike pinned him still. Dawn couldn't tear her eyes away. She'd seen it all before, in those African lion documentaries, but it was all so much worse when it was happening for real, right there in front of her. Eddie struggled, but it did no good.

But then Buffy! The Slayer, coming in, straight and true at last; so fast was all a blur as she wrested Eddie free from Spike, sending him sprawling onto the ground to lie next to Annie. Then Buffy and Spike picked up from where they had left off: fighting. Really fighting, with vampire speed and strength so that she couldn't see a thing but a blur of colour and noise and whirlwind movement. And again there was nothing she could do but cower against the wall.

 _Help me!_

Then they were gone. Just like that. One moment, they were in front of her, and then next they were tumbling and thrashing out of the tunnel and were gone. Dawn sank to her knees. Shaking.

 _Buffy?_

Gone. She was gone. Gone.

The tunnel was silent. She was alone.

No, wait a minute-

Eddie! Oh god, Eddie. Dawn crawled, clawed, her way across the sandy floor to where he lay curled next to Annie. Where Annie still lay, but now looking at Eddie with her direct nowhere stare, as if she meant to take him where she herself had gone. A terrified, hopeless, sob burst from Dawn's lips, but she persisted and crawled over the little guy's body to look into his face. Blood. Everywhere, from his chin to his shoulder. She couldn't see the wounds in the dark like this, even with the light from the discarded flashlights, so he could be dead-

He coughed.

"Eddie!" Dawn heard, rather than felt, herself speak. "Oh thank you, thank you. You're not dead. You're not dead." He wasn't dead. That was good. Focus on that. He wasn't dead. Now, she had to make sure he stayed that way. Giles. She needed Giles. Then she needed to get out of here, and then to a hospital. She could do- Oh help, Giles! "Giles!" She called out. Nothing. No, wait, there by the far wall there was an ex-librarian shaped lump. Scrambling to her feet she raced across the space, landing and skidding on her knees. Wait a minute, no. She stopped, inches from grabbing onto his jacket. This was crazy Giles; crazy, frog-in-a-blender Giles that Ethan had put a spell on. If he woke up who's to say he wouldn't eat her like Spike tried to? Indecision made her hands hover for a moment, but then Eddie coughed again and she knew what she had to do.

"Giles, oh please wake up. Please wake up! Help!"

"I'm awake. What's going on?" Giles suddenly spoke as he sat up from his slump. He sounded weirdly flat, but he sounded like Giles, and that would do more than fine right now.

"Buffy's gone and Eddie's been hurt. I need your help to get him out of here."

"Buffy? Eddie? Frost? Oh. Alright then. Certainly." But the Watcher did not move to get up. He just looked around and frowned. OK, so this wasn't going to be so easy. She pulled on his arm.

"Uh, Giles: little help."

"Oh, right, right. Of course." And he was getting up, using her (crushingly) as a prop, but he was moving. She pushed him back against the wall. He put a hand to a battered cheek and his fingers came away smudged red. He was clearly even more confused at this as his forehead suddenly creased even more deeply.

"OK, are you going to stay up?" Maybe Buffy had hit him in the head?

"Hmm."

"I'll take that as a yes." Dawn gave him another shove and stepped back. "Eddie's over here, come on."

"Right." Giles said, but this time he sounded more like Giles. "How bad is it?

"I don't know, but he's still breath- Where are you going?"

"Where's the Slayer?" Giles was frowning again, but this time the expression was darker, more intense. He looked around, and Dawn looked at him; there was a weird light in his eyes and since when did he refer to Buffy as _The Slayer_? The hair stood up on her arms.

"Uh, she's gone uh home. Yeah. Uh, home. She… She told me that we need to take Eddie back and she'd meet us there." The instinctive lie came out in a stuttering babble. There was something seriously wrong here. "Uh, Giles?"

"She's not here, but she was." He cocked his head, ignoring her. "And a vampire. Ah! Yes." He suddenly grinned, lips tight, eyes glowing, and started out of the tunnel. Dawn started, alarmed. Oh no, she wasn't going to get left alone down here. NO WAY!

"NO!" Without thinking Dawn lunged after the Watcher, grabbing at his arm. His skin felt so cold. "Giles, don't go! You can't go! You can't leave me here." He stopped and turned back. Looked down at her, dazed and bewildered once more.

"Dawn?" OK, back to Mr Space-y, but at least he wasn't trying to leave. She pulled on his arm until he started walking back to Eddie, then she rushed to gather up Spike's forgotten duster.

"OK, just come back here and… And, we can use Spike's coat to - Where are you going?" This time she did not even hesitate, but grabbed him immediately. And again he stopped trying to leave. She let go, his focus went with it. She grabbed his arm again and he looked at her. Hokay, even more weirdness, but this was one she didn't have time to puzzle over. There were issues of possessed garden gnomes, evil magic guys and crazy vampires and Slayers ready to jump back out at them from the shadows, and she knew that every second wasted was another that brought one or all of those _issues_ back into their faces.

Dawn grabbed Giles' hand and steered him back over to Eddie and Anita. She pulled him down to sit with her, and without letting go of his hand, she pulled at Spike's coat, but it was almost impossible to manoeuvre it, let alone try to twist-and-throw it over Eddie's shivering body with only one hand. But that was all she had, so she strained and twisted and pulled and cursed. _Oh come on!_

And Eddie? She could hear him making little wet coughing sounds. _Just keep on doing that_ , she encouraged, _just hang on and we will get you out of here_.

"Giles, I need you to-" But he was gone again, this time staring at Anita. Anita. How were they going to get her out of here as well? She watched Giles as he sat there, just looking, as if the woman were an interesting painting hanging in a gallery. He didn't try to touch her. "W-we can't take her as well as Eddie you know, Giles. I'm sorry, I-"

"Yes, I know. It's alright." The Watcher's voice was still that weird flat tone, but his mild compliance was suddenly more devastating than if he had shouted her down with denials and accusations. Dawn felt fresh tears fill her eyes. No. No, she couldn't stand this.

"W-we can," And Dawn found herself frantically looking around the tunnel, for something, anything that she could use so that she could take back her words. Anything. But there was nothing. "I don't know, but we could, maybe, uh-"

Giles wasn't listening to her though. He was reaching into his pants pocket. She watched the filthy bloody knuckles disappear, watched the pocket material writhe as he felt around for something. She watched the shape of his fist form under the cloth, and then he was pulling something out. Putting it to his lips he kissed it. It was some weird little stone, with something drawn on it. And, was that- did it have its own vibrating ring tone or something? It seemed to buzz in his fingers. Then he pressed it to his forehead, muttered something, and reached over to fold one of Annie's hands around it. "Here Annie. For you." He said. "I can always find you if you have it with you." Dawn stared at the closed fist. The Watcher leaned in and kissed Annie on the lips.

"Dawn." This time it was Giles who prompted her. There was a clearer look in his eye this time and she almost fell over with relief. Giles was back, he was back and she had never ever been so anxious to be told what to do in her entire life. "We have to go."

Dawn did not realise that they were free from the underground labyrinth until she ran into the tree that suddenly appeared in front of her. She smashed into its broad trunk, and fell hard onto the dewy grass at its base. Edward, still so heavy on her shoulder, was dragged down with her, falling limply to the ground. Giles staggered on by himself for a few feet as if he didn't realise what had happened, but then she heard him go down too: a soft thump in the dark. His ragged breathing sounded raw and wet. He did not come back to find them, and Dawn dug her fingers into the damp soil and tried not to burst into tears – again.

They were free.

They were back in the world at last.

 _Oh god…_

She pulled her bruised body free from Eddie's dead weight and looked back at the tomb. The broken doorway, like a yawning mouth, gaped back at her: so quiet now. No gibbering goblins were chasing them this time (although she could have sworn she had seen a glimmer of eyes watching their stumbling journey). A lump of tears, of grief and terror and anger, surged up to close her throat; her stomach filled with ice and stone. How could it look like that after everything that had happened – that it had _done_ to them? How _dare_ it look like that! She bit down on the rising sob, refusing to let it enjoy the sight of any more suffering.

 _Buffy where are you?_

"Mmph."

"Eddie!" Dawn started. She reached around the limp body and hooked her hands over his shoulder, feeling the wet ragged tears in his jacket, and pulled him onto his back. In the darkness, the blood looked like black coffee stains. There was a lot of spilt coffee. Dark lines ran from his nose to his chin, and from his eyes like tears. She didn't need to be a doctor to know that this was really, really bad. "Eddie? Eddie?" She gave a little shake of his shoulders. _Not you too, not you too._ "Giles, help me! Giles!" No answer. "GILES PLEASE HELP ME!" Oh god, oh god, oh god. Her hands rose up of their own accord to hover over Eddie's face, fluttering there like butterflies. He looked so broken up she was afraid to touch him. "What do I do? I don't know what to do? Somebody help me! I don't know what to do! Buffy? BUFFY!" She screamed as loud as she could, but no one called back, no one came to help, not even Giles. She was abandoned for real this time, and Eddie was dying right in front of her. "I- I'm going to get help." She said to him. Giles was just around the tree, so, like no problem, right? Giles would fix it. He would know what to do. _Yeah, that's why he isn't right here doing it…_ Oh god. "J-just don't d- go anywhere, ok?"

"W-what ha-" The English guy's eyes flicked open.

"Eddie?" Dawn responded without thinking, reaching out to frame his face in her hands, as she leaned over him. "Eddie?" She saw his eyes roll in her direction, wobble and settle, and her heart started to race anew in her chest, thumping painfully against her ribs. "Eddie? Say something, please. What do I do?" There was no reply, but Giles' breathing and the wet wheeze that she now realised, to her horror, was coming from Eddie. Oh no, please no. "I'm going to get help, ok?"

"No-o, don't…!" The Englishman started, and suddenly convulsed, head bouncing against the ground, and she felt the skin under her hands flood with warm liquid. She recoiled, to horrified even to think. More not-coffee bubbled up from his mouth, from his nose. His breath gurgled horribly in his throat and Dawn thought her heart was going to explode with terror.

Then he stopped moving.

So did she. She froze, although the adrenaline icing her belly, her limbs, told her to run, run, run. Run away to where this wasn't happening. Back to where Mom would be waiting, arms crossed as she sat on the couch. Waiting to tell her off for staying out late, sending her to her warm, dry and safe bed where she could be happily grounded for life. Anywhere but deep dark holes where horrifying creatures sat waiting for her, where evil wizards were waiting to send her sister insane and take her friends from her. And anywhere but where this kind, cute, dweeby guy that had fought to save her life, was losing the battle for his own. Anywhere but here…

Eddie suddenly inhaled again. A big drawn out, wet sounding wheeze that started somewhere around his boots and opened his mouth wide. The whites of his eyes showed her that he was looking at the stars. The cold, uncaring stars that swayed in and out of sight through the branches above them. She looked up too, then back at his face. He looked like a ghost already: skin so transparent and pale under the moonlight that even she could see that he was already fading away. That last effort to make her stay had taken everything he had left and she knew there was no use in running for help. And she couldn't leave him here to stare at the lonely stars until...

Dawn found her hands miraculously steady as she touched his face again. She turned it slightly, slippery as it was with blood, until he was looking at her. He blinked slowly, the movement looking heavy and stiff.

"It's ok, I'm not going anywhere." She felt her face crease into a small warm smile, though her insides still felt icy. "I'm here." He didn't react. Could he even see or hear her anymore? He had asked her not to leave, he didn't want to be alone, but if he didn't know she was there... "Eddie?" She asked, leaning in close. "Can you hear me?" This close she could smell the blood that was glistening in the moonlight, and see the wounds that had messed up his throat. _Spike's wounds._ His breathing was getting fainter, wetter. _Eddie._ Tears leaked free from her eyes then, despite her best efforts, and she watched as they dripped onto his face, mixing with the blood. She watched him blink as they hit. Dawn started. He had felt that! Eddie! Without thinking, she lunged closer and pressed her lips to his. The blood covering his mouth felt disgusting, but she didn't pull back, instead she willed with all her strength for him to know that she was there – that someone was there. _Feel me here with you, I'm here, you're not alone, not alone, thank you for looking after me, thank you for saving my life, thank you for trying to save Giles' friend, thankyou for everything, I'm here with you, you aren't alone_. Eddie's breath rattled horribly, but his lips did not move, he did not so much as twitch. He couldn't feel her - it was too late even for that. The excruciating pain of that knowing tore at her more viciously than even the calling of the Hellmouth in her 'dream'. She pulled back; suddenly trembling so hard she could barely stay up on her knees.

 _I'm so sorry, so sorry, so sorry. Too late, too late._

But no, wait-

Eddie's pale fingers were reaching up to touch his lips. A look of wonder passed over his face, his lips curved into a smile, and he was suddenly reaching out to her. Dawn grasped the icy hands and held on, pressing them to her face.

"Eddie?" Dawn's whisper caught in her throat.

"I can see you!" The awed whisper slipped from his lips, away into the breeze; and Edward Frost followed after them, gliding away into the dark.


	11. Chapter 11

**Epilogue:**

 **3 hours after the Hellmouth:**

Joyce Summers left her car in front of the emergency entrance, keys in the ignition, engine still running, and all but flew through the throngs of injured and into the emergency bay. A siren squealed behind her. The crowds surged. People cried, moaned, screamed and called for help but she didn't hear them. Nothing mattered but getting inside.

"Where is my daughter?" She barked as she literally hit the front desk running. Bracing herself against the wood she leaned over it crying into the face of the first nurse she saw. "You have my daughter! Someone called me!" _My baby..._

"Excuse me." The nurse snapped. She had a clipboard in one hand, a stethoscope around her neck and a bunch of charts in her free hand. Sweat had plastered wisps of her long hair to her forehead and temples. She looked like a stiff breeze would topple her. "Look you will have to wait. I have a bunch of people here that have been waiting for hours already." She indicated the feral desk bound crowd that Joyce had just rammed through.

"But, look, my name is Joyce Summers and someone called me to say my daughter is here-" She appealed. _My daughter who should be safe in bed. She should be home in bed. I should have made sure of it..._

"Give the desk nurse your name and take a seat and someone will see you when they can." She dumped the charts in front of an equally exhausted looking male nurse who was sitting at a computer. She moved back toward a filing cabinet. "Please, take a seat."

"Can't you just tell me where she is? It will only take a second-"

"Look, Ms... Summers, I don't even have the time for a second here. I have two days worth of patients backed up and even if I wanted to I couldn't-"

"Then get me someone who can!" Joyce felt her voice rising into a shriek.

"... Mom?" The small voice was a chick's peep in the roaring of the crowd but the sound of it pierced Joyce's ears and heart as fiercely as a scream. Dawn! Joyce swivelled around, chest tight with relief, and swooped on her youngest.

"Dawn! Oh Dawnie." She hugged her daughter close and fierce and the tension of the last hour drained away in a violent rush that left her weak and heavy limbed. "Oh baby, you're ok. You're ok. I'm here now. Mommy's here." She was never going to get used to this. Never. Since Buffy had become the Slayer her trips to the hospital both for her eldest and for her friends had become distressingly commonplace. Buffy. Releasing Dawn to push her back Joyce looked into the pale dirty face. "Where's Buffy?"

"I don't know." Small faraway voice.

"She's not here?" Alarm crept back into Joyce's voice. If Dawn had been brought here then Buffy should be here. She should have brought Dawn. "How did you-"

"Giles brought me." Dawn said. "He carried Edward."

"Edward?" _Oh thank god Mr Giles is here._ The knowledge that Buffy had left Dawn in the older man's care was a profound relief. Her daughter must be out slaying things.

"Edward's gone down stairs." Her daughter continued and for the first time Joyce registered the huge eyes, the white face, and the tiny flat voice. Her breath caught in her throat. There were no signs of injury, but Joyce ran her hands over her daughter's head, face and everything she could see. No wound presented itself, which only increased her growing alarm. Where was the Watcher? He would never leave her daughter alone in this state. Not unless he-

"Where is Mr Giles honey?" She asked, drawing her youngest close again.

"The doctor says he has to stay for a while. He's over there." She pointed a filthy finger across the bay toward a bank of curtained exam rooms.

 _Oh no._

Joyce steered them both across the bay and Dawn pulled aside on of the curtains. The Watcher sat propped up against the raised head of the bed, filthy, bloody, ragged and as pale as Dawn. Paler perhaps. He was staring straight ahead, blind eyes seeing nothing, reacting to nothing. If she hadn't been able to see his chest rising and falling she would not have known he was alive. There was a fresh piece of gauze, spotted with blood, wrapped around one of his hands where it lay limply in his lap. Her mind raced from the battered man to her missing daughter. _Oh my god, Buffy?_ _Where was Buffy?_

"M- Mr Giles? Rupert?" Joyce barely held herself back from lunging across the bed and shaking the Englishman. He looked so fragile, like he may break to pieces if she tried it. For his part, the Watcher did not react to her entreaty so Joyce moved closer, reaching out to touch his arm. His skin was cold, clammy. So different to - and her mind slipped her an image of the young candy-stoned Sid Vicious with the cigarette breath and burning hot touch - and the hood of a police car... "Rupert, where is Buffy?"

"Excuse me." A brusque voice suddenly spoke behind her. "You are not supposed to be back here. You will have to go back to the waiting area." A green gowned E.R. attendant pushed passed the Summers' and into the exam cubicle.

"Oh, no. No. You don't understand, this is my- my husband. Someone called me to say that he and my daughter were here."

"Oh, I see." The man's voice softened a fraction. "Well, I can tell you that both your husband and daughter are going to be fine. We will need to keep (he looked at the chart) Rupert in over night just to be on the safe side but your daughter can go home with you right now." He paused. "There was another man brought in with your family Mrs Giles. An Edward Frost. Do you know him?" At the sound of the name Dawn clung tighter to her mother's waist.

"Ah, no. No."

"I see." The attendant said. "Look, the police will be here soon and they will want to talk with your daughter."

"The police?"

"I know." The attendant smiled a tiny smile. "I know, usually this kind if thing doesn't rate a mention in Sunnydale. I mean, if the police had to deal with every case of random shock or spontaneous neck eruption they would have a permanent office here.

"Still, they want to talk to Dawn and they said they would be here in a few minutes. If you would return to the waiting area now I can move Rupert somewhere more comfortable. They should not be long."

"Right." Joyce said, letting herself be ushered out. Dawn clung to her now, a silent weight dragging at her as she moved. Oh my god, Mr Giles. Rupert. What had happened? Where was Buffy?

"Mrs S?" Xander's voice pierced her fog and she realised she had followed the attendant's instructions and was now sitting in a hard moulded plastic seat in the waiting area. A man with blood pouring from his head sat docilely to her right. Dawn was still clinging to her left side. She blinked and there he was, Xander, squatting in front of her and looking rumpled with his bed-hair sticking up at all angles. "Uh, Mrs S?"

"Xander." She breathed.

"Giles is upstairs: room 325." Willow now. "The doctor says he's going to be fine, but I- Xander, you should see his eyes." Joyce followed the sound of the young woman's hushed voice. She was standing by Xander, Tara close beside her radiating anxiety.

Silence.

"But, he- he has eyes." Anya spoke up, nervously. Such an odd girl, Joyce thought distantly. "That's good right?" No one answered.

"Where's Buffy?" Xander again. "Have you seen her?"

"No." Willow.

"M-maybe she's uh slaying whatever did this?" Tara said.

"Alone? I dunno Tara." Xander said. "Whatever managed to do that to Giles... I dunno."

"Maybe she's not alone." Anya again. "Maybe she's with Spike?"

"Oh great. Why do I find no comfort in that thought."

"...S-spike?" Dawn's small voice got everyone's attention. It also broke Joyce's stupor.

"Dawnie." She twisted to look at her youngest. Everyone tensed around her. "What about Spike, baby? What is it? What happened?" Dawn looked at her, then her eyes were filling with tears and whatever protective fugue she had been in broke down completely and she fell into her mother's arms sobbing.

"Oh god, you don't think-" Xander choked on his question..

"He wouldn't." Tara replied.

"He can't. He couldn't." Willow put in. "Could he?"

 **12 hours after the Hellmouth:**

This was new, Toby thought as he sat on the high hill that over looked the graveyard and drank his cappuccino - low fat of course. Not the usual at all, and he knew what he was talking about too. He came here to drink his coffee every night on the way to his new club and never had he seen anything like this.

Never.

The moon was a thin sliver of pure white light shining dimly through a quilt of unlit cloud, so it was dark. In a gloomy way. Thick dirty shadows plumped up the tree tops and muddied up the understorey so that the tomb stones and paths at their clearest were reduced to light smears. Given all that, he had been expecting ten minutes of boredom - nothing but him and his chocolate dusted froth top. Certainly he had never expected anything like _this_.

Two shapes, pale and sleek, flitted between the trees, the tombs. In and out of his sight like cold darting fireflies. Very fast. For a moment it was all he could do to keep track of them and he strained his eyes against the dark night haze.

It wasn't unusual for there to be nightly activity in the Sunnydale necropolis: half hidden scurryings, short raucous rumbles, strange snarls and bitten off screams, giggling and silhouetted loners stalking and slinking through the shadows. It wasn't exactly fulfilling viewing, no plots, no resolution to the invisible shrieks or stone splitting cracks, but Toby liked it. He had always had a vivid imagination and it was fun to try to keep a rolling plot going as his ten minutes ticked by. Helped to keep the nicotine cravings at bay anyway.

It was unusual though, for there to be _this_ kind of activity. There was a very personal, very open, battle going on below. The low night air lifted snatches of inarticulate growls and indistinct words up to his ears as the two white glowing forms slammed violently together, broke apart, skittered away, chased, darted, and collided again. Toby leaned forward on the stone wall. It was unmistakably a screaming mimi of a fight. The two forms merged again in an abrupt and sickening collision that made Toby wince and shake his head. _Goddamn._

Then, before he realised what he was doing he had dumped his coffee onto the wall and slipped down to land heavily on the steep slope that lead directly down to the graveyard. And down to Sunnydale's own WWE combat zone. A high shriek sliced the air as the warring pair split apart again. Damn! This was so stupid. It was foolish and dangerous. His feet carried him down, from bush to bush, shadow to shadow. It was really dumb-ass. He was going to get his butt kicked for sure. Toby's hand crept into his coat pocket - shit, no cigarettes.

Closer.

Okay, so this was dumb, but he was just going to go down the hill and hide behind that big, leafy bush next to the wall and see what he could see. Just that far and no further. Damn, it was something he could tell the guys at the club later. Yup, for once they'd have more than till-raiding and shoddy accounting to mull over. Okay, just down to the bush and then he'd see what he could see. Sweat pimpled his forehead and upper lip.

Oh shit!

It was a guy and a girl. A tiny little girl and a skinny punk ass dude of the type Fat Lenny would automatically turn from the Club doors. The kind that was all lip and swagger, that dripped girls off his arms and still slimed after anything that passed him by. The kind with more money than sense and more front than was healthy. Toby's lip curled. Jesus, did these guys make nothing but trouble everywhere they went? And did he have to teach _every single one_ of them a lesson _personally_?

The girl, blond matted hair tangled over half her face, was facing him. The guy was facing her, his torn up shirt hanging from his shoulders. Both were crouched forward, tense and moving around each other. There was blood on the girl's face. A split lip, a bloody nose, smeared and dirty across her cheek. Toby tensed, fists curling. No man worth a damn hit a girl. No man... But why wasn't she running? Why wasn't she screaming a blue fit for help?

And why did she have messed up knuckles?

Why was she snarling like that?

What the fuck was this? Some screwed up lower east side kink? He'd checked out the 'Dale before moving in a few weeks back and had seen the hawkers and streetwalkers down on the lower east. Fuck. Some of those deals had been really sick. Weird-ass shit that had no business in the US of fucking A, and certainly no place in the same city as his Club. His outfit was pure style: sexy girls, respectful guys, good smoky air and the kind of quality music that had Made that Travolta guy back in the 80's (now _there_ was a decade with style). No way did he want to set up shop next to some fucking whips and chains Halloween shit. No way. He was a businessman, not a fucking sewer rat.

After Lenny had pointed out that torching the entire scene was definitely going to cause some serious bother and wasn't really practical anyway, Toby had agreed to set up as far to the west as was profitable. Far, far from the filth. Or so he had fooled himself into believing. Here was proof he was wrong. And here was proof that Lenny's live and let live policy was untenable. There was no live and let live with rabid animals. Just gotta get rid of them.

He could do that.

It would be fucking humane.

It would send a message too: stay on your fucking side of the fence and nobody need get hurt, but come any closer and... Well, Mr Glock would settle the challenge.

Toby reached into his pocket and pulled out his gun. He peered over the fence again. Punch and Judy were getting into it once more, and this close he could hear the impact of fist and boot. Woooo! Nice move there - even if he was a fuckin' kook, the guy sure could move. And growl like something out of a wildlife documentary. Judy ducked a swing and dug her small fist into the guy's gut so impossibly hard it snapped him closed like a clam and he was put on the ground. She sprang onto him. Jesus! That's gotta hurt.

Snarling, growling, cursing and grunting.

Punch rose up hard to connect foreheads with Judy and the girl retreated in a flurry of flailing limbs. They sprang apart again, both breathing hard. Both ragged, bleeding, dirty and sweaty and so fucking high it was amazing they weren't in orbit.

Drugs.

For the first time Toby thought: drugs. That PCP or crack stuff. They could have a sloth clocking up a four-minute mile. Had to be drugs. Filthy, crackhead kinky fucks. Well, that just sealed it!

Toby sank below the wall for a second and cracked the gun clip free. Snapped it back. Flicked off the safety. He licked his lower lip and blew out a healthy lungful of air, then crossed himself and glanced to heaven. Okay, set. He lunged up right; coming up passed the lip of the stone wall like a vengeful angel.

"All right you fuckin' kooks..." They were gone. Toby froze. Oh, this wasn't good. He stood still, licking at the sweat on his upper lip, and scanned the night. A growl. Off to the right and deeper into the murky dark so he allowed himself a relieved breath - then got mad. Oh, so they were gonna make him work for it were they? Fuckers. He hauled his belly over the wall and dropped inside. Sweat was running down his back and from both 'pits. Jesus! He was gonna stink by the time he made it to the Club.

Gun held out ready, Toby crunched his way over the leafy ground and toward the growling. Shadowy treetops closed over his head as he moved in deeper. Mother Mary, it was dark in here, but the growling led him on. It was getting louder too. Toby inched forward. Careful now. Fucking crackheads could go off like sweaty gelignite. Anytime, anywhere. Gotta be careful. Don't even sneeze. He snapped his head around 180, reassuring himself he was not a target himself. Just his quarry ahead of him, and getting closer. Where the fuck were they?

The copse of trees ended abruptly and the meagre moonlight lit up a new clearing. No sign of Punch or Judy amongst the graves there, but there was the growling. And a feminine cry, harsh and triumphant. There: by the new graves. Shit. Motherfuckers were rolling around clawing at each other again - had to be behind them stones. He went on, gun steady in his fist.

Oh, I do _not_ fucking believe this! Toby pursed his lips. This had gone well beyond even the same planet as decent. He headed straight for the newly dug grave, irritation becoming righteous anger. Fouling each other up was one thing but to desecrate the future resting place of some poor SOB was just-

Toby looked into the grave. Jesus. No mistaking what they were up to now. The white glow of Judy's skin made her movements plain in the dark of the pit. Sick. It was psycho sick.

"Orright you fuckers." Toby bellowed into the grave. "You just get the fuck offa him and climb outa there. Don't you got no respect for noone?" The girl looked up then, with a fast snap of the head, and Toby got a goodly view of a blurry white face and wild, wild black hole eyes. She didn't stop moving. What the fuck did a guy have to do? He couldn't shoot them down there - no way to get the bodies out and make the waiting site all respectable again. "You deaf girl. Get your fucking ass up and out right now or I'll fucking start shooting!"

Then he got a glimpse of Punch.

"What the fuck?" That wasn't human. That couldn't be fucking human! Yellow, feral eyes and demonic visage, and bloody dog-fangs. It could have been a mask, but somehow Toby knew it wasn't. Punch growled and that wasn't a sound a man could make, even getting fucked by a crack whore like he was. And those eyes... They froze Toby to the spot and his guts turned to water. Hail Mary, mother of... He suddenly couldn't look away.

Words slid like icy hooks into his mind, holding him fast: _blood, hungry, prey, fat and juicy prey, yeah, oh don't move, don't move, don't move, oh you don't wanna move pretty pretty, yeah, don't move_. And then bloodied images of himself that made him tremble with horror lit up the inside of his skull. Oh my god... The rough words inside his head continued to croon - _don't move, don't move_ \- but they were suddenly made all the more horrifying by the fact that their rhythm matched Judy's. Oh sweet Jesus he was gonna die and he couldn't even look away. He was helpless: like a fly in a web. And Judy just kept on riding them all closer and closer to hell like it was a fucking race.

Hell.

Yep.

This was the Devil and Toby was going to hell. Kept aside for the afterglow: the Devil's cigarette. Aunt May always said that tobacco was Beelzebub's joy, and would bring him nothing but ruin. She told him and told him and he never once listened. Now he was finally trying to quit and the Devil had come early to claim his prize, and smoke his ass but good. _Don't move, don't move._ The irony was not lost on Toby, but he was shocked to hear his own sharp crackle of laughter.

Judy looked back up with a snap. Wide, wild eyes really seeing him for just a split second and she stopped. They stared at one another. Then Punch bucked up underneath her. She looked back down and slapped him in the face, smacking his head around on his skinny neck. The hold was broken and the release was like a punch in the gut, and for a moment Toby was too shocked to move. Then Punch snarled at Judy and she lunged downward again. Toby had a glimpse of her strong white hands pinning Punch's to the dark earth above his head before he ran.

Shit, he was never gonna smoke again. He was gonna go to church regular. Confession. Every Sunday. Twice. He was gonna do right. He was - a ferocious uber-roar suddenly torched the air behind him. _The Lord is my Shepherd..._ Toby ran and didn't look back.

There was dust in her mouth. Yuck. How did she get dust in her mouth? Ergh. She tried to swallow and coughed. Oh dammit. She didn't want to move, not yet. Sleep. Sleep. Need water. Need sleep. She sighed out loud. No good. She was going to have to go get some water or lay awake all night coughing and then feel terrible in the morning.

She sat up and cracked open her eyes. It was dark. But not so dark that she couldn't - oh my god.

Oh my god.

Oh my god.

...

...

Spike. She was lying on Spike. Naked Spike. Bloody, dirty, dew misted and NAKED Spike. What - dew? DEW? Eyes wide she looked around herself. Wet soil under her knees, surrounding her, and above her the sky, made square in an earthen frame. Grave. She was in a grave! _The dream grave. Help me._ In the grave, in the graveyard, sleeping on top of a naked, dirty, blood smeared vampire. A vampire that she had just... OH FUC-!

 **5 days after the Hellmouth:**

"He was Councillor Frost's boy, did you know that?"

"W-what?" Giles looked up from the newly polished marble of Anita's memorial at the sound of the voice. The last voice he would have expected to hear in this of all places, and if he hadn't been five near sleepless nights gone and nearly sick with exhaustion and grief he might have greeted that voice with all the bloody vengeance it deserved. As it was he managed one word followed by a stupid silence.

What could he say anyway? The Council had not responded to his railing accusations, nor helped him try to reach his traumatised Slayer (nor her equally wounded family), let alone been persuaded to hand over the missing Tilea diaries. He was beyond exhausted with them, he was utterly spent and no words could help him anymore.

"Mr Frost, Edward. Gillian's only child."

"Gillian Frost." Giles heard himself echo dumbly. Then – "Gillian Frost? You mean Gillian Smith?"

"She was a Smith, yes, before she married."

"But weren't you and she - "

"For a time." Knightly nodded, still staring at the memorial. "We, _I_ , ended it some 20 years ago now. She married Frost a few months later. Damned shame really, and I only realised that once it was too late of course. Utterly too late. And then what was one to do?" He paused, prodding the end of his umbrella at a fallen leaf. The orange glow that suffused his form, rolled and boiled in tight anguished convulsions and Giles frowned. Then his eyes widened. Oh my god! "What was one to do then Rupert, except the honourable thing? The _only_ thing."

"Edward was yours, wasn't he?" Giles butted in. Knightly did not reply. "I wondered how he got hold of the Watcher diaries. You gave them to him. And you let him persuade you into making him part of the goddamned Hellmouth Expedition. Oh dammit, Robert, why didn't you say anything? You bloody fool!"

"How could I?" Knightly's voice was suddenly fierce, harsh and rough, though spoken in a whispered rush of emotion. "How could I say anything Rupert? And what could I say? Hmm? What? It was all I could do to stop you, and… others, _seeing_ it in me, or him.

"No," Knightly shook his head. "No, I made my decision long ago to remain silent. It was best for all concerned, not least Edward. My only concern now must be what to tell his mother. What in god's name do I tell her?" Knightly fell silent and Giles followed suit _. Oh Christ Almighty._

"Did he suffer?" Knightly suddenly asked. "I've read the official report Rupert, but I am asking you, man to man: was it... did he... suffer?"

And what to say to that? Silence? That would be more telling than a thousand words, and more devastating. And yet the truth... It was all he had to give and all Frost, all _Edward_ , all _Robert's son_ , had ever asked for. Perhaps it was reward enough for the sacrifice the young man had made. Perhaps.

"Not for long." He said. For the first time he really looked at the other man, noting the deep grey lines carving through his lean face. Knightly was not looking at him, but the hurt screamed across Giles' senses. The soft orange glow of his aura was deep with a pain that could not be expressed; that must not be if the world was not to be laid waste by its horror. Giles swallowed a reactive surge of emotion. "I'm so sorry Robert." The other man's nod was barely perceptible.

"And... And was it how you described in your report?" Knightly's aura suddenly wrapped tight and tense around him and Giles knew what he wanted to hear. It was a relief that it was also the truth.

"It was. He saved someone whom is very important both to me and to the Slayer. We are both forever in his debt."

"I see." He said flatly, and Giles nodded: it wasn't much consolation for a young life lost. Knightly swallowed and for a moment neither of them spoke. Giles followed the Councillor's distant stare to Anita's memorial. Another friend laid to rest (please, let it be rest) before their time. _Oh Jesus, would this never stop..._

"I'm sorry about your friend Rupert. She was a fine, fine lady."

"You knew her?"

" _Met_ her. Once, long ago." Knightly looked back at him. There was a light in his eyes that momentarily relieved the intense grief that shrouded him. "Only once and yet I have never forgotten her." Giles stared, suddenly consumed by a desperate need to know.

"When?"

"Long ago. After your return to the Council." He looked thoughtful for a moment and his aura rippled with a sudden conflict. It pulsed and tensed around him. "It was quite by accident really. I knew who she was of course-"

"- from the ball." Giles finished with a shake of his head. Anita had insisted upon making his return to grace a thing of note. Even resorting to physically pushing his arms into his dinner jacket and hiding his smokes. _You'll thank me babe. One day you'll thank me and you'll understand._ She left him that night. Not a word. Not a wave. Not a sign. After causing the room to ripple with curiosity just with her entrance, after continuing to make waves all night and taking him up on her crest and into respectability once more, she just vanished.

"The ball." Knightly nodded. "She was leaving, coming down the staircase like the devil had got her. She was moving so fast she tripped. Lucky I was there. I had just popped out for a smoke, you see, and managed to grab her before she fell too far. Or so I thought.

"Hadn't got her right side up before she was doubled over again. I thought she might have cracked a rib. Maybe winded herself. She hadn't."

"Why are you telling me this? Anita did not die now because she tripped 24 years ago."

"No, she didn't." Knightly looked across the ancient cemetery, seeming to look through the marble statue forest with its creeping cowling vines and invisible twittering birds. Beyond it all. Giles found himself following the man's gaze for the second time. And there, in the middle distance, someone was sitting on a park bench. Long legs stretched out in front of them. Someone else putting flowers by a stone plinth, and an elderly couple shuffling by. And beyond that - nothing... Giles looked back at Knightly. Peered at him. There was a strange relieved texture to the man's aura now. What-

"Stop looking at me Rupert, you'll learn nothing more here." The other man looked back at him and managed a faint smile. "I've made so many mistakes in my life, but the very worst one has been taken from me and I will never have the chance to rectify it. You don't have to carry that burden." Knightly looked across the grounds again and jerked his chin in the direction of the bench. "Go. Learn something. I think she would approve."

Anita? Approve? What- But his feet were carrying him as if in a thrall. Past his love's grave, over crackling undergrowth, underneath the coldly serene gaze of carved angels and through cold pools of oak-made shadow and on toward the bench. As he approached the figure sitting there resolved itself into a man. Tall and lean and wrapped in a mildly expensive grey long coat. His balled fists were jammed into the pockets and drawn tightly over his belly, protecting himself from the chill wind. He stood up. Giles' feet kept on moving until he was a few metres away. He stumbled to a halt, feet scraping over the gravel path. The man, young and dark haired, was waiting.

"He told you then, did he?" The voice held a familiar timbre.

"What?"

"Knightly? He told you and now you are here."

"I- I'm sorry?"

"My name is Thomas Snow. I'm your son."

 **5 days and 30 minutes after the Hellmouth:**

A hesitant shadow slipped free from a grove of nearby trees and moved across the human lawn. Tree to tree, shadow-to-shadow, grave to grave. To grave. To _the_ grave.

A pale hand, wrapped in gauze, reached out to touch the small carved rose that mantled the stone. Fingertips hovered over its topmost petal, but dropped away before making contact.

Then a dry whisper of a voice, barely distinguishable from the cold breeze that wove its icy fingers through the cemetery, spoke to the marble headstone, cracking and breaking on the last syllables: "Not really how I pictured it all to end Annie love."

Ethan looked down upon the memorial through bleak eyes. His gaze traced the hard carved contours and he swallowed. Such a small cold thing to mark the ending of a wildly free and passionate life. Such a little thing. A fresh well of hollow grief suddenly surged up from his guts. It rose like bile toward his throat, but froze through his chest, blocking his heart with ice. He gritted his teeth against the pain.

 _Oh god, how has it come to this?_

 _Annie where are you?_

"I know you aren't one much for revenge love," he tried his voice again, "but I want you to know that Rip- Rupert is going to try to kill me for this." He looked up, through the trees where his old friend had departed. His vision blurred, greying and then obliterating the scene. "And I just might let him. Once I'm done, once _it's_ done, I think I just might let him."

The end


End file.
